Knit 'n' Lit
by Lia06
Summary: Elizabeth "Betsy" Bennet hates her name because she was named after Austen's novel. Mark F. Williamson is a world-renowned Austen expert who is not a "people person."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my second attempt at modernizing Pride and Prejudice but from a slightly different perspective.

* * *

Title: Knit 'n' Lit

Rating: T

Summary: Elizabeth "Betsy" Bennet hates her name because she was named after Austen's novel. Mark F. Williamson is a world-renowned Austen expert who is not a "people person."

* * *

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of good fortune must be in want of a wife."

-Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

It is a truth less well known but still universally acknowledged by those who are aware of it that living with the name "Elizabeth Bennet" in the twenty-first century can really, really suck.

I speak from personal experience, approximately twenty-four years of personal experience. You see my name is Elizabeth Bennet, Elizabeth Louise Bennet. And I am the second of the five daughters of Joel Bennet and Nina Watkins-Bennet. My father is professor of British literature at the University of Michigan; Dickens and his contemporaries are my father's specialty. My mother's specialty is fussing, worrying, and interfering in other people's lives. But she has a degree in English literature from the University of Michigan to help her along with that.

My parents met in college when Dad encountered Mom sitting in a coffee-shop reading Pride and Prejudice for the ninetieth time. It's been her favorite book since she was thirteen. And he likes it. They bonded over it, got married, and had five daughters. Jenna is the oldest-sweet and docile, then there's me-eternally damned as the second Bennet daughter, Mabel came after me-quiet and studious, Camilla is second from last-always looking for someone else to tell her what to do and how to do it, and then there is Lucy-Maud, determined to be the center of attention and always desperate for a man in her life.

* * *

"Betsy, where are you?" Jenna called out as she walked into Knit 'n' Lit, the book and yarn store that I ran with Carlye and Luke Ormond. "Betsy, I need to talk to you. Mom is looking for you."

"Don't worry. My phone is off," I told her, coming out of the back room.

Jenna sighed and sat down in an armchair by the fire. "She'll come looking for you then. She's determined to talk to both of us about something that is 'extremely important' or that's what her text message said."

I sighed. "She's probably found some guy she wants us to meet so that one of us can marry him."

My older sister laughed and shook her blonde head. "It's either that or she wants us to circulate at some department party next weekend."

"Damn," I muttered. "I hate department parties. Everyone always wants to make jokes about my name. No, I haven't met Mr. Darcy yet, but if I do meet him, I'll be sure to marry him just because it would be funny. And I'm not that attracted to Colin Firth."

"Betsy, I promise you that someday you'll meet someone who is amazingly fabulous and will deflect all of those dumb jokes."

"That's easy for you to say. Your name isn't Elizabeth Bennet."

"That's because God loves me more than he loves you."

And then my mother burst through the door. "Jenna, Elizabeth, where are you two? I need to talk to you right away. It's an emergency. Elizabeth, why isn't your phone on?"

"I'm working, Mom," I told her. "I keep my personal cell off when I'm working and I have my work cell on."

"Elizabeth," she sighed. "I don't have your work number."

"Yes, you do," I told her. "I put it in your phone myself when I got my work cell."

My mother wordlessly flipped through her cell phone for a few minutes before gasping. "Oh I do have your number! Silly me, I didn't know that."

"Okay, so what brings you here today?" I asked her.

"Your father and I are hosting a party for the English department this weekend to mark the beginning of the semester and we want all of our daughters to be there. It's nothing major, just a cocktail party. But there are some new male professors from England and they're young and probably handsome. Your father really wants you to meet them."

"What time?" I asked.

"It's at seven at our house."

"I'll be there," I told her.

"As will I," Jenna replied.

"And will Paul be coming?" Mom asked eagerly.

"No, Mom, Paul isn't coming. We broke up back in April when he moved to Nashville."

"You could have gone with him, Jenna dear. He did offer. And he wrote you such beautiful poetry."

Jenna sighed. "Mom, I'm fine. It was four months ago and I don't miss him. He just wasn't the one for me. He's too much of a hippie for me."

"Then you should have set him up with Elizabeth. She's determined to relive Woodstock every day of her life."

Now it was my turn to sigh. "I'm not trying to relive Woodstock. I just like fair trade and organic things."

"But you're always making your own clothes. It's so folksy."

I sighed. "I like to sew. And Mom, I own a knitting shop. I have to knit and crochet my own clothes."

Mom shook her head. "Just look nice on Saturday. It's a cocktail party. And I know you have nice dresses. I've bought you some of them. You look great in dark colors like purple and navy. And wear your hair up and away from your face. You look prettier like that. And don't wear your glasses, either one of you. You're pretty girls. Remember to accent that. I want grandchildren before I die. Well, I have to go talk to Mabel and Milla and Lucy. See you two on Saturday."

I sighed. "We'll see you then."

And then she left followed by the tinkling of the bells on the door.

* * *

"So what are you going to wear?" Jenna asked me.

I shrugged. "Sweats and an old t-shirt sound pretty good right now."

She laughed. "Don't let her get to you, Betsy-belle. She's just stressed."

"She's an obnoxious old cow," Carlye said as she walked over to us, carrying a mug in her hands.

"Carlye, she's not that bad. She just worries about us too much," Jenna protested.

"I lived next-door to your parents from the age of eight until I left for college. Nina Bennet is a major pain in the ass."

"Don't worry, Carlye," I told my roommate and business partner. "I'll let you make me hot on Saturday."

"Good," she said. "I'm not agreeing with your mother about this but I think I can hot you up even better than you can when left to your own devices."

"I can pick out a pretty nice and do my hair and make-up."

"Yeah but all that stuff looks better when someone else helps you; it's just a fact of life, Betsy-belle."

"Whatever, if it'll make Mom happy, you can do whatever you want to me."

"Can I dye your hair blonde to make you look more like Jenna?"

I laughed; my dad's colleagues were always asking how my parents had two blonde daughters, a redhead, and two very dark brunettes. Jenna and I were incredibly close but we looked nothing-and I mean nothing-alike except for having the same eyes, our father's eyes.

"I'm never going blonde," I told her. "I love my natural hair too much."

"Weirdo," Jenna said. "Gentlemen prefer blondes."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Just because I never go out, that doesn't mean men aren't attracted to me. It just means that I'm picky."

"You know it is hard to meet a guy when you work in a yarn store. They don't exactly draw in many straight guys," Carlye commented.

"Except Luke," Jenna said.

"Luke's here for the books and the coffee. He hates the yarn part."

"He would," I sighed. "But at least he helps us with the business part."

"I suck at business and finance," Carlye sighed.

"Me too," my sister told her.

"Yeah but you aren't part owner of a business."

"True story," Jenna sighed.

"Hey, Bets, some board is in classic literature looking for your favorite book and she wants to know which is the best version," Luke Ormond said walking over to us. "I told her I'd send her our Brit Lit expert to help her."

I sighed and stuck my tongue out at him. "Lucas, sometimes, you're an asshole."

"You freaking majored in Brit Lit. Get your ass over there and help her."

"I hate you."

"I sign your paychecks."

"And I sign yours. What does this woman look like?"

"Mid-forties, bland looking, she's probably recently divorced and looking for a good romance to renew her faith in men."

"Knightley is better for that than Darcy," I replied before walking away.

* * *

The "bland-looking" woman in her mid-forties was named Cheryl and she was in fact recently divorced and looking for a good romance to renew her faith in men. Luke really is good at reading our customers. And working in a small bookstore I can bond with my customers and help them. "Pride and Prejudice isn't my favorite book," I told her. "But my mother loves it. If you just want to read it, we have several really good, inexpensive editions. But if you want analysis and historical explanation, we have a couple of really good editions for that."

"I want analysis," she said. "I want to understand how they thought and all of that."

I took a book off a higher shelf. "This is really great. It has commentary from a British scholar who has been working at Oxford named Mark F. Williamson. He has a really good, unique perspective on Austen in her historical context."

"But he's a man," she said. "How can a man understand Jane so well?"

I shrugged. "He knows his stuff. I'm really impressed with all of his books about Austen."

She shrugged and took the book from me. "What's your favorite book for getting over a broken heart?"

I laughed. "I have a couple. Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility is one. I love reading Atonement by Ian McEwan when I'm utterly broken-hearted and just need to bawl my eyes out. And then, I like various things by Kate Jacobs."

"What has she written?"

"The Friday Night Knitting Club," I said. "It's a personal favorite. You'll laugh; you'll cry. It's great."

Cheryl nodded and shrugged. "I've never tried knitting before. I just came here because one of my friends loves it. She says it's small and cute and cozy. And she said you guys were more helpful than chain bookstores."

I smiled. "We try. We really try."

"How did you learn to knit?" she asked.

"My grandmother," I replied. "She loved knitting and crocheting."

"That's so sweet."

I nodded. "She lived with us when I was a child and taught me then."

"That's so sweet," she cooed. People always have that reaction to learning that my Nana Bennet taught me to knit and crochet and sew. She was probably as much of an Earth Child as my mother is always accusing me of being, but people just always chalked that up to her being an eccentric old lady. But my dad always tells me that I'm a lot like his mother; I take that as a compliment.

"Do you think I could learn to knit?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course!" I replied eagerly. "We have knitting classes here three nights a week. The schedule is by the fireplace if you're interested."

"Oh that would be lovely," Cheryl enthused. And I knew that we had a new customer for life.

* * *

Saturday rolled around quickly enough to content most people. Michigan's football team had their home opener-against Western Michigan-and it was a beautiful day. Downtown Ann Arbor was hopping. Around five-thirty, I packed up my things and headed home to get myself all gussied up for my mother's precious party. Carlye was already at home, watching football and doing some research for the bookstore online. She was looking for new books and yarns. We were attempting to find someone local who spun and dyed their own yarn from which we could buy yarn to sell in Knit 'n' Lit. We had some suppliers who from other states but we wanted to promote local business, especially when the economy in Michigan was shit.

By six-thirty, I was wearing a tea-length eggplant colored dress with a cream-colored shrug that I'd crocheted and cream ballet flats. "You look gorgeous," Carlye told me. She'd straightened my normally curly hair because my mom likes it better that way.

I looked at myself in the mirror. "I hate saying this but I just hope it makes my mother happy. She gets way too stressed about these damn department parties."

Carlye handed me a gold necklace and matching hoop earrings. "Put these on. And think about the new professors. Maybe one of them will be into you."

I laughed. "I doubt it. And I don't think I'd want to date an English professor anyway. He'd probably make too many comments about my name."

"What is in a name?" Carlye quoted. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"And there'd be fewer jokes if my name was Rose Bennet rather than Elizabeth Bennet. I try to hide behind Betsy but Mom always brings Elizabeth, Liz, Eliza, and Lizzy back into the open."

"But you're our Betsy. Those other names don't fit you; you're my pretty Betsy."

I laughed and hugged her. "I'll see you later. And thanks for all your help."

"Anytime, you're my best roommate."

* * *

Jenna looked perfect, of course; she always looked perfect. She wore her Little Black Dress with pearls and put her hair in a classy up-do. Grace Kelly would have been proud. She grabbed me as soon as I was in the front door. "Avoid upstairs. Cam and Lu are both having fashion disasters. And Mabel is insisting that she doesn't have to be here."

"Where's Mom?" I asked, stashing my purse in the front closet.

"Upstairs," she replied. "And Dad is in his office talking to someone on the phone. Can you talk to the caterers? You're better with kitchens and stuff than I am."

"Sure thing," I replied. My mom always hired the same caterers and I knew them pretty well. I was often asked to deal with them because I was more "people-friendly" than most other members of my family-or so my dad said. Jenna is way better with little kids than I'll ever be.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm going to deal with Mom and the Terrible Trio."

"The silliest girls in all of America," I replied, quoting our dad.

She laughed. "Who knew that a degree in elementary education would help me with my mother and sisters?"

"Oh, I've always known. I'm secretly still five."

She laughed and went upstairs. And I went to the kitchen.

* * *

Around eight o'clock, my dad finally introduced Jenna and I to the two new professors. Kevin Bingham was average height with light brown hair and blue eyes; he was cute and had an adorable British accent and totally not my type. His younger half-sister, Emily, had come with him. "She's going to take care of Mark and me; make sure that two poor bachelors don't starve to death or anything like that," he told us.

And there was Mark as in The Mark F. Williamson who edits all of my favorite editions of Jane Austen's novels. "I actually got my PhD from Cambridge in Austen," he told me. And I noticed that he didn't have a British accent. He sounded really American to me. "I guess I'm supposed to be an expert on her or something."

"You'll have to take that up with my mother," I told him. "Jane Austen is her favorite author."

"She even named poor Betsy here Elizabeth Bennet after Pride and Prejudice," my dad said.

I sighed and took a sip of my drink. God, I have got to start drinking stronger stuff than lemonade at my parents' parties.

"That's better than some things that I've heard," Mark said. "One of my students last year when I was at Vanderbilt thought I should name all of my children after Austen heroines and heroes. Just because I study the stuff, write about it, and teach it, that doesn't mean I'm going to name all of my kids after it."

"Umm, no offense or anything," I said. "But that's not worse than what my mom did to me. See, you won't actually do that to your kids and even if you did, Elinor Williamson isn't a direct reference to Austen. Elizabeth Bennet could be cited and cross-referenced as a direct reference. And I'm stuck with it."

"You'll get married someday and you can change your last name," Kevin said optimistically and sweetly. I liked him. Mark was too confrontational for me.

"I think my mother is half-hoping that I'll meet some guy whose last name is Darcy and then I can be Elizabeth Darcy," I admitted.

"If you ever meet anyone whose last name is Darcy, run the other way," Mark advised. And he had a smile on his face as he said it.

And I couldn't help but to laugh. "I'll remember that," I told him.

"So Elizabeth," Kevin began.

"Please call me Betsy," I interrupted. "I can't stand being called Elizabeth."

"Sorry, Betsy," he said. "So your sister is a teacher. What do you do?"

"I own a small book and yarn store with a café."

"A yarn store?" Emily Bingham repeated. "How quaint, I didn't know anyone needed those anymore."

"Oh, knitting and crocheting are really popular these days," I replied. "Julia Robert knits; it's getting trendy again. And it's a beautiful art. We have hand-spun and hand-dyed yarns. It's really wonderful. And we have books, so many books. We have a great selection of books for every personality and interest."

"Betsy is so talented," my dad said. "She makes hats and scarves and sweaters and so many beautiful things."

"She even made the sweater she's wearing tonight," Jenna added.

"Very nice," Kevin said. "It really is impressive."

Emily just sniffed in a manner that could only be called "huffily." And Mark just nodded and took a sip of his champagne. I could tell that my talents and skills didn't impress with most of this crowd. But I was used to that after a few years of being around my dad's colleagues. Most of them didn't think that they should have to associate with people who ran stores and knitted.

* * *

An hour and a half later, I was in the living room talking to one of my former professors when I overheard Kevin and Mark talking. Kevin had been paying a lot of attention to Jenna and she seemed to love it. But Mark didn't seem to be circulating much. "You need to stop hanging on Emily and me," I heard Kevin tell Mark.

"I don't know anyone else," his friend protested.

"So talk to people. Dr. Bennet introduced us to his daughters."

"Kevin, you've got Jenna's attention."

"There's still the other one. She's a knock-out."

"And she's an artist. I don't date artists."

Kevin sighed. "Mark, I'm not asking you to marry her. Just talk to her."

"What would I talk to her about?"

"Books," was the reply.

"She probably has awful taste in books."

"She works in a bookstore."

"Mark, you're pathetic."

Mark sighed. "I just don't want to go talk to some ditzy artist with whom I have absolutely nothing in common."

I shook my head and continued talking to Professor Flaherty. I didn't need to be called a ditz by someone who didn't understand me at all.

And then I heard the clincher. "Just leave me alone, Kevin. She's probably a hippie or something I don't date hippies."

This leaves me with just one question. Why does everyone think I'm a hippie? I shower daily; I just like organic food and homemade clothes. That does not a hippie make.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers. I appreciate them so much. And I don't own the story; I'm just playing with it for fun.

_

* * *

People often ask me "Why Jane Austen?" Why would any reasonably sane young man from St. Paul, Minnesota graduate from the University of Minnesota with a degree in English language and literature and then move to England to get his doctorate in Jane Austen? My cousin informed me once that Austen was "chick shit" and I need to get a life. I didn't choose Austen because of the love stories. I chose her for the satire and social commentary. And contrary to what some people believe, I did not do it to get girls. While teaching at Vanderbilt University in Nashville in 2008, a grad student remarked to me that I could get any girls I wanted with my degree. I disagreed; while I could use it to seduce girls, it wasn't my plan. I'm not interested manipulating and seducing girls. I have a genuine interest in Jane Austen as a writer and as a social groundbreaker. _

_-from Chapter 1 of __Why Austen?__ By Mark F. Williamson, published June 2017_

* * *

The next morning, I got up, took a shower, put on a pair of gray leggings and a blue dress from Orchid Lane and my silver ballet flats, ate my usual cereal and tea, and then went to work. By that time it was ten o'clock. When I got there, Carlye and Jenna were eating breakfast while Jenna bitched about my mother's reaction to the previous night. "She's already planning my wedding to Kevin," she sighed as I walked in.

"Well, at least she's over Paul," Carlye remarked, referencing my mother's obsession with the possibilities of Jenna's marriage to Paul Malone despite the fact that they very mutually split in April and my sister doesn't seem to be missing him.

"I cannot believe she thought I was going to marry him. He was such a Hemingway." My sister defines men whose primary passions are sex, booze, and smoking as "Hemingways." Paul did love his beloved whisky and whisky.

I laughed. "Jen, in Mom's mind you could marry old Ernie himself, just as long as you were married and in a position to give her grandchildren."

My sister sighed and Carlye shook her had. "I've never understood her desperate need to see you girls married."

"You've heard of the sexual revolution and how things like that freed women from the social need to get married. Well, our mom is a reactionary against that. When everyone else was out deciding against ever getting married, she became more determined than ever that she and all of her daughters would marry," Jenna explained. "She told me that once when I was about thirteen or so. This boy, Trevor Herman, asked me out and I said no because he had really bad acne and wore headgear for his braces. So I told her about it because I thought she would be sympathetic. Instead, she told me that if I turned down nice boys from good families no one would ever marry me."

"Poor Trevor Herman," I remarked. "Now he works at Meijer."

"It's probably a good thing I didn't marry him," Jenna said.

"Some guys with acne and braces turn out really well after middle school," Carlye said.

"Yeah, but Trevor wasn't one of them," I said.

Jenna just shrugged and said, "He really isn't living up to his full potential." My sister has to be nice-all the time and to every single human being on earth. She couldn't even bring herself to hate the Unabomber or Satan himself. I'm not like that. I say what I think and get mad at people because that's how I feel and I scream at my sisters and my parents because I'm annoyed.

"Jenna, sweetie, you're too nice," Carlye told her.

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Someday, some guy is going to swoop in and take advantage of that sweet little face."

"Okay, I hate to break up the girl bonding," Lucas said coming out from behind the counter. "But we need to make business decisions."

"Like what?" Carlye asked.

"Like who is teaching which classes," her brother replied. "And who is running fall stitch and bitch?"

"Me!" I said throwing my arm up in the air like a first-grader who just has to tell his teacher that Saturn is the planet with the rings.

Carlye pouted for about two minutes and then laughed. "Oh fine, Betsy can do fall S&B. I did it all summer and God knows I need a break."

"You people need music in here," Jenna said as she took her mug (of tea, I'm sure) and went behind the counter.

"And Betsy, since you have Stitch and Bitch, you're also going to have to teach two intro classes on weekends."

I shrugged as I heard the beginnings of the _Amelie_ soundtrack from the back room. "I can do that," I told him. "This place is my job. I can do whatever you need me to do."

"Make me a fisherman's sweater before November," Lucas told me.

"Very funny," I replied. "I made you one when we were in college."

"Yeah, that was a while ago. It died."

"It died?" I repeated. "But I made it-with love!"

"It still died. It was like five years old. And now, I need a new one."

"I'll think about it."

"My birthday is coming up soon."

"It's Halloween," Carlye reminded me. "His birthday is Halloween. You've got almost two months before his birthday. You could totally make him a sweater between now and then."

I sighed. "Fine, Lucas, I'll do it. But you're providing me with free yarn."

"You're a stitching bitch."

"Haha, you're so original."

He smirked and I glared at him.

"Kevin's coming over!" my sister squealed as she came running out of the back room. "He'll be here in like ten minutes."

"I knew he liked her," I muttered.

"She's never going to marry me now," Lucas said.

Jenna looked at him. "You want to marry me?"

He shrugged. "It sounds like a nice idea in theory, doesn't it? You're gorgeous; I'm handsome. Isn't that all we need?"

"Carlye, this is your fault for saying Betsy should have married Jamie because she was pretty and he was cute."

"She should have married Jamie! They would have been a great couple."

I laughed. "But then Jamie moved to Ecuador. Damn the Peace Corps and his adorable good-hearted soul."

"Mom never liked Jamie though," Jenna commented.

"That's because his last name was not Darcy."

My sister rolled her eyes. "Just be nice to Kevin and don't prattle about Jamie."

"We broke up two years ago," I said.

"When he moved to Ecuador," Lucas added.

"Shut up," I told him, slapping him. "I don't care. I'm fine. I'm a big girl. I moved on."

"Isn't he married to some Ecuadorian chick now?"

"Go jump in Lake Erie."

"Huron is closer," he protested.

"That's why you're going to Erie. Now go before I get really pissed off and want you to jump in Ontario."

"I sign your paycheck."

I sighed. "You say that every fucking day. Now go jump."

"Go find Jamie in Ecuador."

* * *

And then the bell over the door tinkled. We looked up to see Kevin and Mark coming in. "Hey, Kevin," Jenna said as she walked over to them with a big smile on her face. "This is my sister's store."

"It's my store too!" Lucas protested.

"Lake Erie," I whispered in his ear and he walked back behind the counter.

"Hello, Betsy, it's great to see you again," Kevin said with a chipper grin on his face. "How are you doing?"

"Great," I replied with a smile. "Kevin, this is my business partner, Carlye Ormond. Carlye, this is Kevin Bingham. And her brother, Lucas, is around here somewhere."

"He's a drink master," Jenna said. "He can make any latte you've ever dreamed up."

"And chaider," I added. "Never forget chaider."

"Heaven in a mug," Carlye muttered. "It's chai tea and apple cider."

"Sounds great," Kevin said. "I'll have to try it sometime."

"We start serving it around mid-September usually," I said.

"Excellent, I'll be sure to stop by."

I grinned as my sister introduced Mark to Lucas and Carlye. He was still quiet and reserved but he seemed to be a little warmer than he was the night before. "This place is impressive," he told me. "You have an amazing collection of books."

"That's all Betsy," Carlye said. "She majored in English while Lucas studied business and I got a degree in general studies."

"Why are we not listening to the Gipsy Kings?" Lucas asked coming over to us. "This is Sunday. Sundays belong to the Gipsy Kings."

I laughed. "My sister wanted Yann Thiersen."

"Jenna, Saturdays are for Yann. I love him but he belongs to Saturday. Sundays are for my beloved Gipsy Kings."

"Lucas assigns a different musical group to each day of the week and that's all we're supposed to listen to when he's around," I told Mark and Kevin. "Mondays are the Chieftains, Tuesdays belong to the Beatles, Wednesdays are Juanes, Thursdays are Rodrigo y Gabriela, Fridays are devoted to listening to different musical genres and educating ourselves, Saturday is Yann Thiersen, and Sunday is the Gipsy Kings."

"Wow," Kevin said. "Do you ever get bored?"

"No," I replied. "He doesn't work all day every day, so Carlye and I get some control over the music when he isn't around."

"He doesn't understand Disney music," Carlye said. "So we listen to that when he isn't working."

"And classic rock and alternative rock," I added. "Lucas has very limited musical taste."

"But we still love him," his sister pointed out.

"Betsy," Lucas said coming over to me. "Have you thought about buying a spinning wheel and making your own yarn?"

"All the freaking time," I replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I found one online for like $250 and I was thinking you might want to buy it."

"My own spinning wheel?" I asked him.

He nodded. "You'd have to pay for it yourself but you should get one. And you could use your own yarn and it would probably end up being more cost efficient than buying yarn."

I laughed. "It would take a while to equal out. But it would be great."

"I'll email you the link," he told me.

"Awesome," I replied.

"If you start spinning and dyeing, would that mean we could sell your yarn in the store?" Carlye asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know if I could make enough for the store. You might want to leave that to the pros."

"So I need to keep looking for local spinners?"

"I think that's what the lady wants," Lucas told his older sister.

* * *

"How long have you guys been doing this?" Kevin asked when I walked away from Carlye and Lucas.

"About two years," I replied. "We opened shortly after Lucas and I graduated from college. His dad owned a bookstore-café here, The Spotted Dog, and when he retired, he left it to his children, so we gradually transformed it into Knit 'n' Lit."

"It's really impressive," he said. "I like it. I could see myself spending hours here."

"And lots of money," Mark added. "Kevin loves buying books."

"I love books too," I said. "Carlye thinks that I'm trying to put the public library out of business with my personal collection."

They both laughed at that. "I bet Mark has more books than you do," Kevin said. "He has an entire room in his house in St. Paul that's devoted to books."

"St. Paul, Minnesota?" I asked.

Mark nodded. "That's home."

"Somehow I got the impression that you were English."

He shook his head. "No, I did all of my postgraduate studies at Oxford but I grew up in Minnesota and got my bachelor's degree from St. Olaf's College."

"Really?" I said. "That's cool."

He nodded. "My dad's family has owned a construction company in St. Paul for four generations. And my mom's family is also something of local royalty."

"My dad is the head of the English department at the University of Michigan and my mom is basically no one," I said. "That's me, Betsy Bennet boring as all hell."

"You're not boring," Kevin said. "You've got this place."

I laughed. "And I love it. But while it pays the bills, I'll never be rich. I'll never be royalty. But a humble little hippie like myself is content with what she has."

"You're a humble little hippie?" Lucas said coming over to us.

"That's what some people say," I replied.

"Nah, you don't wear Jesus sandals and you shower regularly unlike some people we know."

I glared at him. "Mike isn't really a hippie And he and Joe don't shower because they want to save money on their water bill."

"It's still gross."

"I know," I replied. "I'm just telling you why they don't shower."

"Didn't Jamie live with them?"

I sighed. "Yes, but he showered at least once a day."

"Do you think he still showers regularly?"

"I'm pretty sure that he showers when he can." I turned to Kevin and Mark. "Lucas likes to mock my friend, Jamie, who is in the Peace Corps in Ecuador right now."

"I think he prefers to be called your ex-boyfriend."

"Lake Ontario," I said to him. "Go swimming-now."

"You're mean."

"I could make it the St. Lawrence Seaway."

"I just don't see why you're so touchy about Jamie."

I sighed. "I don't get why you have to bring him up constantly. We mutually parted when he left for Ecuador."

Lucas shrugged. "It's funny. You got dumped for the freaking Peace Corps."

"I did not get dumped for the Peace Corps. We decided that we'd take a break and live our own lives for twenty-seven months and if we were both still single at the end of his twenty-seven months, we'd think about getting back together."

"He's dating some Ecuadorian chick though," Lucas said.

"Shut up," I told him.

"Lucas, leave my sister alone," Jenna said. "We don't need to rehash this daily. She's over Jamie, so leave her alone."

"But I liked Jamie. He was cool. He could have worked here with me and balanced out the estrogen."

"And he's gone," I told him. "And we don't know if he really is dating anyone in Ecuador. You just say that because I don't want to date him right now."

"I thought you said he was getting married."

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Lucas, you said that. Betsy has never said that."

"You might want to try listening when I talk more often," I told him.

"Did you two grow up together?" Mark asked. "You have that contentious sibling relationship thing going on."

I nodded. "Next-door neighbors from childhood, we've known each other too long."

He laughed. "I have friends like that."

"I'm not one of them," Kevin said. "We only really got to know each other in grad school."

"But we met when we were kids." Mark turned to me. "Our moms knew each other from forever. Kevin's mom is American and grew up in St. Paul."

"They went to school together until college, which is when my mom met my dad during a semester abroad. And that was that," Kevin explained. "She fell in love and never looked back."

"That's Betsy's style," Jenna said. "She almost never looks before she leaps."

"I'm an artist," I told her.

"You really are," my sister replied. "Mom calls you a hippie but I think you're really just an artist."

"Jenna, I play with yarn and books all day."

"You design things and you sew. You're a textile artist."

I smiled. "You just want me to feel better about the fact that Mom thinks I'm a hippy."

"Betsy, you're not a hippie. You're artistic. You're an individual. But you're not a tree-hugger even if you do think that reusable grocery bags are the greatest things ever. You don't wear Jesus shoes or skirts with Nelson Mandela's face on them or dresses with pictures of President Obama. You own a car that is definitely not a hybrid. You aren't a hippie. You're just a free spirit."

I glanced at Mark who had called me a hippie and a ditzy artist the night before. He had a completely neutral look on his face. I couldn't read him at all. And in a really weird way, that totally turned me on. I couldn't explain it but he was looking sexier today than he had the night before. He was more relaxed and comfortable. And he seemed like he could be someone I could call a friend. I didn't know what to make of him.

"Wait," Kevin said. "You know someone who has skirts with Nelson Mandel's face on them?"

"My sister, Mabel," I replied. "She's into stuff like that. She never shaves her legs."

"Or armpits," Lucas added. "She kind of smells funny."

"Lucas doesn't like her," I said. "He thinks she's a little weird."

"Betsy, she doesn't shave-ever. She rarely showers. She wears Jesus sandals. She has dreadlocks. She's the hippie; you're just adorably eccentric."

"Plus, I love raiding your wardrobe," my sister said. She turned to Kevin and said, "My sister has much better fashion sense than anyone else I know. So whenever I need clothes, I just run over and steal stuff from her."

"Wait," I said. "That dress you wore last night, you stole that from me while I was at work."

"Guilty," she said with a toss of her honey-blonde curls. "I went over when Carlye was watching the football game and I knew you wouldn't be home."

"I hate you when my clothes look better on you than they do on me."

She smiled. "It's the curse of being me."

"Mom's favorite," I sighed. "It's a fact."

"You've got to be kidding," Mark said. "Parents aren't supposed to tell their kids if they have a favorite."

"My mom missed that memo," I told him. "She's been telling me that she loves Jenna more than she loves me since I was seven. She told me when I was eight that I wouldn't marry a guy who was very good or nice because I wasn't as pretty or as smart as my big sister."

Both Mark and Kevin had disgusted looks on their faces. But Lucas wasn't surprised. I'm pretty sure he heard my mom make that comment a million times. Unfortunately, my mother didn't keep the fact that she preferred Jenna to me and Cam and Lucy to any of us. I had long ago grown used to the idea that my mother preferred some of her daughters to others but I hated it when I had to admit it to strangers or people who weren't very close to our family. It sounds awful. And it makes girls look at me with sympathetic "oh poor baby" eyes and guys get annoyed or disgusted looks like they think my mother is an idiot. I hate the way strangers think of her. And worse, I hate the fact that it's true. And I hate the fact that Mark Williamson is judging my mother and my family.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own anything. But I do love my reviewers; you guys keep me going and this stuff coming.

_

* * *

Pride and Prejudice__ isn't even my favorite Austen book, if I'm being honest. I've never really liked Darcy. My younger sister says I'm missing the point. I say she's missing the point. Austen isn't merely happy love stories. It's more complex than that. My wife laughs at me when I attempt to start these discussions with my sister. _

_But __Pride and Prejudice__ just isn't my favorite Austen book. I can't relate to Darcy. I prefer Edward Ferrars (__Sense and Sensibility__) or Mr. Knightley (__Emma__). I find it much easier to relate to them. I like Henry Tilney (__Northanger Abbey__) although I don't feel as though we have much in common. But I could see myself getting along with him. In an odd way, he reminds me of my friend, Kevin. _

_-__Why Austen?__ By Mark F. Williamson (2012)_

* * *

"I don't want to a bridesmaid ever again," Carlye announced one night when I got home from work. It was around ten o'clock and I was tired. Jane and Kevin had been together for a month and she'd stopped by to detail just how wonderful he was and how he'd sent her a dozen red roses for their one-month anniversary.

"Who is getting married?" I asked her flopping down on the couch.

"My cousin, Priscilla," she replied.

"Oh," I said, grabbing a sugar cookie off the plate in front of me. "I didn't realize that she was dating anyone."

"She and Jose have been together for over a year now."

"Apparently, I've been living under a rock for the past year." I looked at her for a while. "Plus, Priscilla and I aren't close at all."

"That's probably why you didn't know she was with Josh, that combined with the fact that you're a conscientious objector to Facebook. Your own mother has Facebook but you refuse to join."

"Mom just has it so she can stalk her daughters' love lives and marriage prospects. I'm not signing up for something like that," I laughed. "My sister and Kevin are celebrating their one month anniversary."

"Has Emily tried to kill Jenna yet?"

"Jenna still thinks that Emily likes her."

"Oh please, even Lucas knows that Emily hates our darling Jenna and we all know how dumb he is."

I shook my head. "Stop making fun of your brother. He's the only one you'll ever have."

"False," she replied. "He's one of four that I'm stuck with for life."

"True," I replied. "But he's closer to you in age than Rob, Nathan, or Andrew. So you've been stuck with him longer than you've been stuck with them."

Carlye laughed. "You're lucky you only have sisters."

"I'm lucky that I'm related to Cam and Lucy? Have you met them lately? They're the silliest girls ever born."

"They'll grow out of it. Kids go through phases. Lena went through a phase where Mom thought she was going to have some kind of OCD thing with cleaning but then it just went away."

"How old was she?"

My roommate shrugged. "Like nine, I think."

"Carlye, Lucy is fifteen and Cam is seventeen. And I'm not sure that they've ever had a serious thought in their lives. They only ever talk about boys, fashion, and parties."

"That sucks. Well, at least you've got Jenna even if the other three are a total loss."

I nodded and leaned back into the couch. "How is Lena?"

"She loves Kendall." Lena Ormond was in her second year studying illustration at Kendall College of Art in Grand Rapids. "It's a perfect fit for her. And she loves Grand Rapids. It's a big city but not too big, so it fits her really well."

"Great," I said. "I miss having her around."

"She says she'll be home to visit sometime this month. I think she misses you."

"I'm her muse," I joked.

"I think you're her inspiration and motivation. You're an artist and you made it through and are living your dream. She needs to know that she can do it."

"Your sister is so talented. She's going to go places."

"You'll have to tell her that the next time you see her. You know how Lena is; she needs reassurance."

I nodded. "Definitely, I can definitely talk to her sometime soon."

"Good, oh, I have news for you."

"What?" I asked.

"I think I found us a local spinner who would be willing to tell in the shop. I'm meeting with her at the store tomorrow at ten."

"What's her name?"

"Marcy D'Antonio," she replied. "She's sold stuff on Etsy and she advertises on Ravelry."

"I'll have to check her out," I said, grabbing my MacBook out of my purse.

"Her Etsy name is Three Strands of Cord and her Ravelry name is TwistedSister09."

I started looking Marcy up online. "She's really talented," I said. "I love her colors."

"She's great at blending colors."

I nodded. "I love her mixing of blues with greens and blues with purples."

"Will you be in tomorrow at ten?" Carlye asked.

"I'll come in early," I told her. "Normally, I don't come in until at least noon on Fridays."

"Lucky," she replied.

I laughed. "Most days I come in at five and open. Then I leave at one, go home and rest until five and then stay until closing. Weekends are my only break from that. Your earliest day starts at like nine."

"That's because I'm not a morning person."

"Honey, coffee makes me a morning person. I'm not Miss Merry Sunshine at six o'clock in the morning by nature."

"Sweetie, I love you but you're never Miss Merry Sunshine. You're great in the shop but you'll always be the skeptical, cynical artist. You're nice to the customers but you cannot shake that edge."

"You're making me sound like the Grim Reaper or something."

"Nah, you're better than Kevin's friend, that Mark guy. He's so socially awkward and shy."

"I don't like him very much. He's really smart and he can be nice. But he's so quiet."

Carlye looked at me. "Do you have something against quiet people?"

I shrugged. "Not really but I'm not known for being quiet either."

"That's for sure," Carlye muttered with a wink that I could only characterize as slightly evil. And then she laughed.

* * *

I went to Carlye's meeting the next morning and I was indeed impressed with Marcy and her dyeing skills. I was also stunned to find Mark Fitzwilliam browsing our shelves. "Can I help you?" I asked him, leaving Carlye and Marcy alone for a few minutes.

"I'm looking for The Idiot," he replied, thumbing through our books.

"Which idiot?" I teased. I rarely get requests for this book and I figured Mark would get the joke even if he didn't appreciate it.

He cracked a grin. "I think Dostoevsky's would be good. But if you have any others, I'd be interested in seeing them."

"Let me see what I have," I replied. "I know I've got Dostoevsky's around here somewhere although admittedly I don't get much call for him these days."

"That's sad," he replied. "He's one of the great masters of the pen."

"You like Russian authors?" I asked.

"Oh definitely," Mark said. "I love War and Peace, Doctor Zhivago, and especially The Brothers Karamazov."

"I wouldn't have guessed that," I admitted. "I guess I saw you only dealing with the Brits."

"No, I love British literature best but I really just enjoy stories that are well-written and well-told."

"Okay, what's your favorite book of all time?" I asked.

"The Lord of the Rings," he replied. "What's yours?"

"You might mock me for this," I warned.

"That's all right. I have a younger sister and I know Kevin. I'm used to mocking people."

I laughed; I didn't know that Mark Fitzwilliam, the stick in the mud, could make me laugh. "Now, remember that my name is Elizabeth Bennet and I really am named after Pride and Prejudice. And I've been reminded of this fact since childhood and I hate it."

"Okay," he replied. "I'm prepared. Hit me."

"Sense and Sensibility," I said. "I love it. I reread it every year at least and own at least three copies."

"Are you serious?" he said. "That's my favorite Austen book. I reread it yearly too."

"Who would have seen that one coming?" I asked the air. "The Oxford scholar and the artist actually have something in common?"

He laughed. "I like Pride and Prejudice, probably more than you because I'm not named after anyone in it and no one is trying to turn me into Mr. Darcy. But it's not my favorite. I think that Elinor is one of the strongest women in literature."

"So do I!"

"Do you like the 1995 movie with Emma Thompson?" he asked almost shyly.

"Love it," I replied eagerly, forgetting how much I had previously disliked this man. "It's one of my favorite movies."

"I don't think I'd say I prefer it to say _Gladiator_ but I like it."

"_Gladiator_," I laughed. "That's such a guy stereotype."

He shrugged. "I'm a guy. I don't always have to evade stereotypes just because I'm an Austen expert-or so they tell me."

"You don't believe them?" I asked.

"Kevin says that I have to be an expert since I have my doctorate in this stuff. But I don't know. I still don't understand Fanny Price no matter how many times I read that book. I can explain all sorts of things about characterization and writing style and all the technical elements. I can talk about the influence of the time period and all that stuff. But I can't explain why she's so quiet and shy."

"It's just her personality," I replied.

"But why did Jane Austen give her that personality?"

"Would a more assertive woman waited for Edmund?"

"You're right about that," Mark replied. "And I know that."

"But you still don't understand her."

"It's the gender gap," he said. "I think that my inability to understand Fanny Price is a direct result of a gap between how men think and how women think."

"Interesting theory," I replied, admittedly more than a bit critically. "How did you come to it?"

"You try studying a male-dominated area for ten years of your life and see what you end of thinking of it."

I laughed. "I see your point."

He smiled; he had a really nice smile. This was not helpful. He called me a "ditzy artist" and a hippie. But he was so nice. And we had so much in common. This was all turning out to be too weird.

"So how did you get into knitting?" he asked.

"My grandmother lived with us when I was a little girl and she taught me."

He nodded. "This place really is impressive. I can't imagine getting something like this off the ground. You must have poured everything you had into this place."

I nodded. "We weren't really starting from the ground up. Lucas inherited the place. But still, it took a lot out of us. It killed our social lives. All we ever did was eat, sleep, and work."

"Is it better now?" he asked.

"Much," I replied. "I can rest assured that I'll be sleeping every night."

"That reminds me of grad school," Mark said. "I never knew which end was up."

"But it's better now?"

He nodded. "I'm a professor. I just grade papers, read what my colleagues write, try to publish a few articles a year, and live my life. I don't have to stress out over a thesis anymore."

"I'm glad that one of us doesn't have to stress over our daily bread anymore," I said. I knew it was a harsh comment but we were in such different places in our lives.

"Don't mistake me, Betsy. I need to become tenured. And I enjoy my job. I want to be a good professor. I'm not saying that my life is easy. I'm simply saying that I don't have to stress over my thesis anymore. I sleep more at night than I did when I would stay awake for seventy-two hours straight just so I could get some simple wording just the way I wanted it."

"I'm so glad I'm not a PhD and will never try to get one," I said. "It sounds like too much work for me."

"Oh come on," he said. "You run this place. I bet this is harder than a PhD."

I shrugged. "It has its days. But I love it. I get to do what I really love here."

"That is a rare thing these days," Mark said. "Most people just find something that they can live with. But to actually enjoy your job, that is a gift."

"Do you enjoy your job?" I asked him

He smiled. "I love it. It sounds pathetic but I'm really doing what I want to do with my life."

"Good," I replied. "That's really good. I know so many people who aren't doing what they want to do and I feel badly for them."

"But what if they chose to settle for something less than their dreams?" he asked.

"Some people have to choose to settle," I said. "They can't afford to live their dreams. It's sad and it sucks. But it happens."

"I know and I agree with you. It sucks when people have to settle for financial reasons. But what about people who don't want to put in the time and work necessary to achieve their dreams? What do you think of people who let laziness hold them back from their dreams?"

"That is heartbreaking," I replied. "There was so much standing between us and this shop. But we made it happen. This is our dreams living and active. And the world can see our love of books and knitting. But if we just hadn't wanted to put in the work, then we would have been pathetic."

"Instead, you're impressive. And I mean that."

* * *

From that conversation, I realized a lot about Mark Williamson. He was shy; he didn't like large groups of people. He wasn't comfortable in large groups. He wasn't as horrible as I wanted to believe that he was. But something still confused me about him. That something was an article written by George Wick-McMahon, which was published shortly after I met Mark. The article entitled "The Truth about Williamson" accused Mark Williamson of being a fraud. "Much of Williamson's so-called experience with Austen comes from watching the BBC/A&E 1995 adaptation of Austen's masterpiece, Pride and Prejudice. Williamson's students will readily admit their professor's willingness to recommend this movie. In fact, Lydia Benson, a former student of Williamson's at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, told me that her professor 'invited me to come over to his apartment and just watch the movie with him-like, whenever. He was totally chill with dating his students. I'm pretty sure he just teaches that Austen stuff to get with girls. It probably does wonders for his sex life.'"

I couldn't reconcile the two Marks. There was a lie somewhere and I couldn't find it. Wick-McMahon claimed to have known Mark since first grade. "And I could explain anything about him to anyone," he said in the article. "The only thing I've never understood about him is his penchant for Austen."

The article accused Mark of not truly studying Austen but rather watching movies; this was easily dismissed just from conversation with him. He knew his stuff too well to be coming from just watching movies; he had explored Austen. I had read his prefaces to Austen editions carefully and he really knew her background and understood everything too well to just be pulling it from watching BBC movies. And it also accused him of using Austen to seduce his students.

I didn't dislike Mark because of this; that would be too stereotypical of some named Betsy Bennet. But I was confused by this. I didn't know what to make of this apparent contradiction in Mark. Was Mark the person more believable or should I believe the article?

* * *

"Don't ask me," Jenna said, when I asked her about the article the following Saturday. "Ask Kevin. He knows Mark. He'd know if there was anything to this George Wickham."

"Wick-McMahon," I said, not liking the way my sister was saying the name of Pride and Prejudice's main villain.

"Whatever," she said picking up a skein of green yarn. "Do you think this would look good on Kevin?"

"Are you making him a scarf?" I asked

She shook her head of honeyed curls. "Nope, I was thinking of making him a sweater."

"Jenna, haven't I told you about the curse of the boyfriend sweater before?"

"I know but I love him, Betsy. I think it will okay this time."

"Jenna, it's never okay. And how do you know that you love him? You've known him for a little over a month. How can it be love after a month?"

"Oh, stop being ridiculous and analytical and cynical, Betsy Mae. When you meet The One, you'll just know. Love is magical and fantastic and not anything like you'll find in something like War and Peace. You with all your Russian novels and crap like that, you don't know what love is."

"I know what love is," I protested. "I just haven't found it yet."

"You haven't found it and you can't know it until you've found it. Love is the most complex and exquisite thing in the world. And yet, it's the simplest thing ever. I don't know. It's so confusing and yet perfect."

"And you can't make your boyfriend a sweater. There's a curse on it. You have to wait until he's your husband."

"Oh, Betsy, grow up and stop believing in that stupid superstition. Did you ever make Jamie a sweater?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. He's just in Ecuador."

"And when he comes back, will you two get back together?"

I sighed. "I don't know and I don't care. I just want you to understand the curse and not make the sweater. I don't want you to ruin your relationship with Kevin."

"It's just a sweater, Betsy."

"But it means so much more. And it's so soon. A sweater is a big commitment. I think that's why it's the relationship curse."

"Look," my older sister protested. "It's my decision, Betsy. Let me make my own decisions. Let me make my own mistakes. I just want to know if you like the green."

"It's fine," I said finally. "Just please ask Kevin if he knows anything about the article."

"I will," she replied. "But I would appreciate your help with the sweater."

"You're my sister, I told her. "I'll help you."

"But you don't agree with what I'm doing."

I shrugged. "No, but I'll still support you because I love you."

Jenna smiled and hugged me. "I love you, Betsy Mae."

"I love you too, Jenna belle."

And then Kevin and Emily walked in just as Jenna hugged me. "Eww, physical affection," Emily said. "God, I hate siblings who actually touch each other. Physical affection just grosses me out. Why do people have to touch each other?"

Kevin glared at his sister. "We were made for physical affection."

"Maybe you were but I think it just messes up our clothes and hair. I don't know. I think it's kind of pathetic and we should have evolved beyond that."

I looked at her. "Evolve beyond physical affection, why would we do that?"

"Because it's stupid and it gets in the way of my lifestyle."

Bitch, I thought to myself. Aloud, I said, "Well, physical affection is an integral part of my lifestyle."

"Well, you're weird, an unconventional little artist type. You're not like sweet, dear Jenna here."

My sister smiled demurely but seemed a bit confused as to what exactly was being said of her. Emily seemed full of these complicated statements that mocked me and seemed to compliment and insult Jenna at the same time.

"Emily," Kevin said. "In some families, being physically affectionate is a good thing."

"I think it's barbaric."

"You think hugging is barbaric?" I asked.

"It depends on the sort of hug," she said with what could only be described as a "delicate" sniff. "American bear hugs are too much for me. Americans are too touchy-feely for me."

"America is a big place," her brother protested. "I wouldn't presume to classify all Americans as the sort to give big hugs just because some do."

"It's what happens in the movies," Emily replied harshly.

"And movies always tell the truth about everything," I said. "That's why there are so many movies about local yarn stores and other small businesses. That's why _You've Got Mail_ portrays the destruction of a small business in a positive light."

"Betsy hates _You've Got Mail_ only because it portrays the destruction of a small, local, family-owned business in a positive light," Jenna said.

"Other than that, it's a great story," I said. "I love Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan and the whole bickering secret love thing. But I don't like the whole thing about destroying a small business."

"Some people would say you want to stand in the way of progress with your traditional values," Emily informed me while looking through her cell phone.

"If that's progress, I don't want any part of it," I replied. "Kevin, could I interest you in a chaider?"

"Absolutely," my sister's sweet-hearted boyfriend replied. "I'll take an extra-large."

"And I'll take a grande non-fat, no whip caramel macchiato," Emily inserted.

"We don't make those," I replied. "We're not Starbucks."

"Pathetic," she grimaced. "Well, what can you make?"

"Look at the board," I replied.

"Fine," she said after a few moments' contemplation during which I made Kevin's drink. "I'll take a grande non-fat, no whip sugar-free vanilla latte."

"Coming right up," I replied.

After I gave them their drinks, I excused myself to go teaching a beginning knitting class.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I don't own it; it's all Jane's unless you don't recognize it. Then it's mine. And I'm sorry about the long wait. But school keeps me very busy.

* * *

Monday morning, I walked into work and saw a tall, skinny man with wavy dark brown hair with his back to me. He was talking to Lucas and looked vaguely familiar. He was wearing blue jeans, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt. And then I coughed and he turned around. "Betsy!" he said. "How are you?"

"Jamie," I gasped. "James Anthony Malloy, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Ecuador."

"It's been twenty-seven months," he said. "The Peace Corps is done with me. I'm back in Ann Arbor looking for a job now."

"And we're going to hire him," Lucas said. "He's going to be our newest barista. And I'm going to let him live upstairs with me so he doesn't have to live with his parents."

I took a deep breath. "That's great. I can't believe you're back. It's been so long." I sighed and looked at him. "I've missed you, Jamie. I can't believe you're finally back."

"Twenty-seven months is a long time. We need to catch up. I've missed so much of your life. I can't believe you guys finally really got this place up and going."

"I told you about it in my emails."

"Yeah, well, emails aren't the same thing as seeing it for real. This is really impressive, Betsy."

I grinned. "I love it. And I'm glad you like it."

"It's so you," he said.

"Lucas and Carlye work here too," I reminded him.

"I know. And it's all great. But this is just so you. I go away for twenty-seven months and you suddenly do this. It's what you've always wanted. Damn, Betsy, you're amazing."

I grinned. "Jamie, you went to Ecuador to save the world and I'm sure that you've probably got a million little kids who are eternally grateful to you for everything you did there."

He laughed. "Yeah, there are a lot of kids who love me there. But I bet they'd like me more if I'd given less homework. We need to catch up. What are you doing tonight?"

I groaned. "My parents invited Justin Collins over for dinner and I have to be there."

"Is your mom still trying to marry you off to Justin?"

"She thinks it will look better at the university if one of my father's daughters marries Collin."

He laughed. "That's ridiculous. Justin's dad is the dean of LS&A but that doesn't mean that you have to marry him to protect your dad's job."

"Jamie, you don't live in my mom's mind."

"Thank God for that. Well, when are you free next? I want to talk to you and find out more than letters can tell me."

"I'm free on Saturday. I work most evenings except Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays."

"I don't have my schedule yet."

"That's because I write the schedule and I didn't know you'd been hired," I replied. "But I promise you I'll get you on there by the end of the day today and I'll call you with it. But you won't be on the schedule this week unless I give you some of Lucas's shifts or mine."

"You can give him some of my shifts," Lucas said. "I could use some time to do some reorganizing and prep around here. I need to reevaluate our stock of books and do inventory."

"Dude, you have to do inventory because it's the end of the month," I told him. "It is part of your freaking job every stinking month, just like it happens to be part of mine that I have to count skeins of yarn all week."

"Yeah but you're more organized than I am so your counting will be easier than mine will."

"I also work faster than you do because I'm not as lazy as you are."

"I don't like you anymore."

I sighed. "Lucas William Ormond, you sound like you're approximately six years old right now. Actually, this is surprisingly similar to the time in third grade when you told me you didn't want to be friends with me anymore because I wanted to draw a blue butterfly with the chalk while you wanted to the blue chalk to draw a blue dinosaur."

He stuck his tongue out at me. "You always got in the way."

"It was my chalk. I was being nice and sharing with you."

Jamie shook his head. "You two have always been ridiculous."

"He always broke my crayons!" I protested before heading over to the yarn shop to get some real work done.

* * *

That night, I arrived at my parents' house at five-thirty, to make sure that my mother couldn't yell at me for being late. I wasn't expected until six but I refuse to give my mother an excuse to yell "Elizabeth Bennet" at me. She loves it and I hate it. Unless we're filling our legal forms or something like that, my name is Betsy Bennet. Sure, it's alliterative but it's also not a direct reference to one of the most famous women in literature.

"Lizzy!" my mother cried running at me as soon as I came in the front door. "You're here. I'm so glad to see you. Your father and Justin aren't here yet but they should be here soon. Hang your coat up and come with me. I need you to set the table. Mabel is practicing the piano, Cam is working on a school project at the library, and I don't know where Lucy is."

"Mom, calm down," I told as I put my coat in the closet. "I'll set the table."

"I'm just nervous. I want everything to work out perfectly. I don't like seeing you all alone, Lizzy. It's not good for you. You need a man. You're lonely and unhappy and it's not just good for you or healthy."

"Mom, I'm fine. I promise. And can I point something out to you, please?"

She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. "What?"

"His last name is Collins and my name is Elizabeth Bennet. I don't think I should marry him."

She looked at me and then her hands flew to her face. "Oh dear, I never thought about that. You really can't marry him. It would be all wrong. Does Justin annoy you like Mr. Collins in the book?"

I laughed. "He isn't that bad. But he isn't my type. Mom, he can't stand the fact that I own the Knit 'n' Lit."

"It is a little odd, sweetie."

"But it's what I love," I protested.

"Can't you at least try to give Justin a shot?" she asked, suddenly changing her position-yet again. "Ignore his last name. He's a nice guy."

"Yes but he's as boring as wallpaper," I told her.

"I know you think that but give him another try. Pretend his last name isn't Collins."

My mother has been trying to set me up with Justin since I was in tenth grade. We're getting nowhere. She still wants me to marry Justin. He still breathes through his mouth and rambles about Wilson's Fourteen Points from 1918. I'm sorry; I don't care much about World War I. It happened. They called it "The War to End All Wars." And then it wasn't the war to end all wars-at all. Twenty-one years later, they were right back at it again with World War II. And no matter how many times I tell Justin that, he still rambles about how Woodrow Wilson is his political hero. Well, bully, mine is Teddy Roosevelt because he's in _Newsies_.

"It's more than his last name, Mom," I persisted. "He isn't my type."

"How can you know that? Sure you dated Jamie but what do you know of men? You're young."

"I know what I'm looking for. I dated Jamie for two years. And I know that I want to marry a man with whom I can have an interesting conversation. I'm not interested in hearing about Woodrow Wilson for the rest of my life."

"But he's so smart."

I sighed. "No, Mom, he's just not for me. I'm too free-spirited for him."

"I don't understand you. You own that store and you just don't conform to what everyone else does."

"I love my store!" I told her.

"And you're always making your own clothes."

"Because I can and I enjoy it," I said. "People are always complimenting me on my clothes."

"Who?" my mother demanded.

I sighed. "Jenna, my customers, Carlye," I said.

"Carlye and your customers are just crazy hippies," she said. "And Jenna just says those things to be nice. You know how your sister is. She has to be nice to everyone."

"Do you tell her things like that?" I asked bitterly. Mom has never made a secret of her preference for Cam's and Lucy's ditziness. And since I was a little girl, she's been constantly telling me how Jenna is nicer than I am and prettier than I am. Thanks, Mom.

"Don't be ridiculous, Elizabeth. I always work to affirm and up build each of my daughters."

I tried not to roll my eyes but failed. And then I just looked at her. "I'll go set the table, Mom."

* * *

Justin Collins arrived at 6:13 PM-according the clock on my parents' oven. I was in the kitchen taking the crescent rolls out of said oven. My mom wanted me to appear domestic and gentle. I wanted to go home, put on pajamas, eat raspberry sorbet out of the carton, knit, and watching a chick flick. Unfortunately, I had agreed to coming over to dinner to placate my mother and to hopefully keep myself from being guilt-tripped into spending time with my family for a few weeks. I could only handle so much Bennet Family Drama in one month.

As I took the rolls out of the oven, my mother walked back into the kitchen and looked at me. "Is that what you're wearing?"

"No," I told her. "This is my Halloween costume."

She glared at me. "Don't give me any of your sass right now, Elizabeth Louise. I'm being serious. Look at yourself. What are you wearing?"

I was wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, and a sleeveless cream-colored tunic sweater that I'd knit the previous winter. And I'd accessorized with silver ballet flats, silver necklaces and earrings, and a navy scarf/headband in my long dark brown curls. "I think I look fine. I wore this at work all day."

"Elizabeth, it's clear to me that you don't realize that Justin Collins is interested in dating and then marrying a respectable young woman. You look like an eccentric artist right now."

I sighed. "Mother, maybe you haven't realized this recently. But that's exactly what I am. I'm eccentric. And if Justin doesn't like that, then he doesn't have to talk to me."

"I want to see married before I die."

"Will you be dying soon?" I asked.

"Stop being so sassy, Lizzy; I'm your mother and I don't have to take your lip."

I sighed. "Mom, I'm not getting changed. I'm twenty-four years old and I can wear what I want to wear. Justin and I are very different people."

"Your father and I are different."

Well, that's as obvious as your hand in front of your face. I'm getting much better at not saying every single thing that pops into my head when talking to my mother. So I just looked at her and shrugged. "Mom, I'll go out there and be nice at dinner. But stop insulting my clothes. I like the way I dress."

"Why can't you be more like Cam and Lucy?" she asked.

You want me to be a whore? "Mom," I said aloud. "I'm not like them. I have what Grandma Bennet always called 'an independent spirit.' I'm not going to conform to society just for kicks. I like doing things my way. I don't want to be just like everyone else."

"And what if you never get married, what will you do?"

"I'll still have the Knit 'n' Lit," I replied. "Now let's go eat dinner. It's not nice to keep Justin Collins waiting just because you don't like your daughter's clothes."

"I wasn't trying to keep him waiting," she whined, just like Lucy does whenever she doesn't get her way.

"No, you were just criticizing my wardrobe for the ninety-seventh time this month," I replied as we walked out into the living room.

* * *

"Justin, it's so good to have you here!" my mother beamed when we were in the living room. "How are you doing?"

"I am extremely busy," he replied from the couch. "Nina, you simply would not ever believe how busy I am. It is simply beyond belief."

My darling mother practically shoved me into a seat next to Justin on the couch. He barely looked at me. Justin is twenty-nine years old and has his master's degree in American history. He works at our local community college as a lecturer and is working on his PhD in history at Michigan State University. He is about the average height for a guy and a little bit overweight but it's not really serious or that noticeable. What is noticeable is his insistence in dressing in dark clothing at all times as if he is in mourning for something. And he always speaks in a very serious, solemn, stilted manner, which I find awkward and uncomfortable.

"I can imagine," my mom said. "I know that Joel finds the second half of every semester to be harder and busier than the first half."

My dad smiled at Justin before giving my mother a questioning look. There is an amazing difference between a department chair at a top-ranked university with three PhDs and a lecturer at a community college with a master's degree. I have nothing against community colleges. But they aren't exactly the same animal as the University of Michigan.

"It's so intense," Justin persisted. "My department head is just grinding at me. And there's this new professor, something-or-other Wick-McMahon, and he's so obnoxious and pretentious. He thinks he's too good for a community college. But I don't think he knows the value of community colleges for American society. Why, in her books, Dr. Claire Devereaux says that the modern student should always keep the community college as one of their options."

"That's so true," I agreed. "I've never read any of Dr. Devereaux's books but I know from my friends' experiences that it can be really good to go to a community college especially if you're not sure what you want to major in. And it's also a great, inexpensive way to get some of those obnoxious prerequisites out of the way."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Justin said with a smile. "Dr. Deveraux also says that in her books although I don't think she uses that word obnoxious exactly."

"Dr. Devereaux was clearly never an English major sitting through basic chemistry," I replied.

"Oh, I loved chemistry," Justin said. "All that math and using your pen, I think Woodrow Wilson probably secretly loved chemistry. After all, he thought the pen was mightier than the sword, so therefore he must have loved any use of his pen."

"Yeah, I bet he loved writing grocery lists."

"I'm sure his wife wrote those for him," he protested. "Real men don't go grocery shopping."

Note to self: tell Lucas that he is not a real man. Also tell Jamie the same thing. Then make sure to hide while Lucas grabs his gun and just avoid Jamie in general.

My father, who does most of the grocery shopping in my parents' household, attempted to dissolve the situation by saying, "Nina, dear, where are Mabel, Cam, and Lucy?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I think they're all still upstairs getting ready. I can go check if you like."

My father nodded. He considers most of upstairs, aside from the master suite, to be "female territory" and therefore unsafe to him.

"Will Jenna not be joining us this evening?" Justin asked as my mother stood up.

"No," she replied. "Jenna is out on a date with her lovely boyfriend, Kevin Bingham. He's a new professor at the University. He's so talented and intelligent and handsome. And he's British. And he's independently wealthy. He's inherited money from his father who did something although I can't remember what exactly. But his father sold his business shortly before dying and now Kevin has half of the fortune and his dear, sweet sister has the other half. And they're both so kind and generous. I think that Kevin will make our Jenna a lovely husband."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that Jenna was dating anyone. She hasn't put it on her Facebook page yet. I thought she was still single."

Jenna's relationship status, according to Carlye, was simply unlisted. Carlye said that some people would view this as uncertainty about the relationship with Kevin or lack of commitment. I knew it was just my sister's natural reserve. She didn't admit something like that until she was really sure it was going to last forever. I don't think she's ever put "Jenna Bennet is in a relationship with Paul Beckett" on Facebook and they dated for at least a year.

"Jenna is definitely taken," my mother told Justin. "But Lizzy here is still single."

Justin turned and looked at me for the first time all evening. "Really, that's good to know."

And then my mother walked out of the room.

"So how is that little store-thing of yours doing these days?" Justin asked me.

"Booming actually," I replied. "Things are actually going so well that we've just hired another barista so that Lucas can spend more time dealing with the business side of things and less time steaming milk."

"I'm surprised," he said. "I didn't realize that knitting and that stuff were really a way to make money."

"People like having something to do with their hands. And it's an old, beautiful art and people like that."

"But it's just such a simple task. It has no function, no real product at the end."

"No real product at the end?" I asked. "You have a scarf or a sweater at the end. Justin, look at this sweater I'm wearing. I made this."

"Really?" he said, fingering the edge of the sweater. "I didn't know you could do things like that."

"That's what knitting is for. Sweaters are supposed to be knit. Scarves are supposed to be knit."

"I thought you just bought them at the store."

My dad sighed. "But they have to be made. And they are typically knit although not always by hand."

"But in my opinion handwork is prettier," I said. "I even make my own dishtowels."

"How?" Justin asked.

"I knit them," I replied.

"Do you have to knit?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's say you marry some guy who doesn't like knitting or doesn't see the point."

"I wouldn't marry a guy who couldn't understand why I knit."

"But you could buy sweaters and dishtowels and scarves at the store and it would be easier."

"But they wouldn't be the same. The sweaters or whatever wouldn't have the same character or value if they were just mass-manufactured. They'd be nice and pretty and good. But it wouldn't be the same. And I wouldn't marry someone who would make me leave that part of my life behind."

"But what if you really loved the guy even though he didn't support your knitting?"

"I couldn't love someone who couldn't accept me, all of me, as I am!"

"But some times we have to change for the people we love," Justin retorted.

"I don't think so. I won't marry a man who won't accept me as I am and won't love me, all of me, as I am. I just said that. Don't you get it?"

"Isn't love supposed to be self-sacrificial?"

"I don't think that means giving up a part of your self like that. A man who really loves me wouldn't ask me to give up my favorite pastime and my job! Knitting has become my job. I love the store and I cannot and will not give it up."

"But it's the only thing about you that I cannot completely accept."

I looked at my dad who just shrugged as if to say "I don't know" and then suddenly left the room.

So I looked at Justin who was earnestly looking at me with a look that I couldn't understand and wasn't sure I wanted to understand. And then it occurred to me that since Jenna was unavailable, Justin meant to use my mother's fondness for him to his benefit and convince me to date him. He clearly had no interest in taking the time to realize that I wasn't interested in any sort of relationship with him. In fact, he kind of reminded me of a toad. And these references to this Dr. Claire Devereaux were beyond obnoxious.

"Look," I said. "I don't mean to be rude, but Justin, I wouldn't date a guy who couldn't or wouldn't live with my love of knitting and crocheting. Luke, Carlye, and I opened the Knit 'n' Lit because of how much we each love books, cafes, and crafting. I wouldn't give that up. It's a huge part of my life."

"But I don't understand it or like it. And I couldn't date you if you kept having all that stuff in your life."

"Who said anything about you dating me?"

"Your mother promised me that if I came to dinner tonight she would set me up with one of her daughters. Since Jenna is dating someone else, I assumed she must mean you."

"I'm sure she did. But my mother does not control my personal life and I'm not interested in you."

"She told me that you might try to play hard to get. But I'm a lion, Elizabeth. I'm not going to back down. I'll convince you of my desirability and attractiveness," he said, grabbing at my hands.

I yanked my hands away from him and stood up. "Rest assured, Justin, that I am not trying to be hard to get. I am hard to get. And you're not going to get me because I'm not for you and you're not right for me. I could never make you happy. And you would make me most unhappy. We would not be a good couple."

"But Dr. Claire Devereaux says that opposites attract and that compromise is an essential part of any marriage."

"I don't think that means changing my entire lifestyle. And I'm not willing to get involved in a relationship with someone who wants me to change my entire lifestyle."

"But Elizabeth, we'd be so perfect together if you'd just get rid of your dumb knitting crap."

"No thank you," I said, walking to the coat closet and grabbing my jacket. "Tell my mother I had to leave for moral reasons. And my name is Betsy, not Lizzy or Elizabeth. Oh and have a nice life."

And then I walked out the door and shut it behind me. I could hear my mother screaming and my cell phone ringing. But I ignored her calls and just drove home to find a bottle of wine waiting for me in the fridge.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I need the encouragement.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I do not own this; I'm just playing with it and I'll give it back when I'm done. Also, I'm very sorry that it takes me forever to update. I'm a busy college student and it takes me forever to have the time to get this done.

* * *

An Interjection from Mark

* * *

Living with Kevin and Emily was starting to get to me. Kevin was head-over-heels in love with Jenna Bennet and there's only so much sappiness one man can take. And Emily is obnoxious. She convinced herself long ago that we were going to get married someday in the future. She's wrong but she refuses to accept it. She's really only interested in my money; I mean nothing to her as a person. But she still touches me whenever she wants and whispers things in my ear that she thinks will win me over to her side. In short, she's desperate, possessive, and pathetic.

I was reminded of this one morning in early November. I came into the kitchen to find Emily doing her nails and reading _Vogue_. "Mark," she said upon seeing me. "Kevin is off with that silly Jenna girl today. So I was thinking you and I could do something cultured together."

"Emily, I have to work today. I have a class in an hour and a half."

"Kevin doesn't work on Thursdays," she whined.

I sighed. "Kevin doesn't work Thursday mornings. He has a class at two and then office hours."

"Being a professor is lame. I'm bored here."

"Then go back to England," I said putting on my coat.

"I'm bored there too."

"Emily, I'm not here to solve your problems. I need to go to work." And I'm not staying here any longer than I have to, I added mentally. I quickly decided I'd stop at Knit 'n' Lit to get a muffin and a cup of coffee. I just needed to get away from Emily.

"But I miss you. We never spend time together. Can't we go out for dinner or something soon? I really want us to go on a date and act like a normal couple. I don't get why you're always acting like I'm annoying."

Because you are, I thought but did not say. Instead, I said, "Emily, I'm sorry but I really need to go. I'll see you later."

* * *

I found myself walking down the street behind a woman wearing a black pea-coat and black leather boots over skinny jeans as I headed to the Knit 'n' lit. Unlike Kevin, I hadn't really bonded with the Bennet sisters but I had grown to love the shop. They have an amazing collection of books and the café is great. I'm not interested in the yarn side at all. But the rest of it is wonderful. Lucas makes an amazing latte.

The woman in front of me when into the Knit 'n' Lit. I followed her in and heard Betsy's familiar voice announce, "Jamie, for the love of God, please tell me that I'm adopted."

"No can do," the tall, dark-haired young man standing behind the counter replied. "You look too much like your family."

"Drat," she replied. "Are you sure your mom doesn't want to adopt me?"

"Betsy, she's got four daughters of her own already. I don't think she wants to adopt another one."

"I'm quiet!" she protested.

The young man, Jamie she called him, laughed. "That's a lie." Then he saw me. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Can I get a medium vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin?" I asked. "And I need it to go."

"No books today, Mark?" Betsy asked.

"Not unless you have anything new since Friday," I replied. One Friday, I'd bought a copy of The Princess Bride at Betsy's recommendation. I'd never read the book or seen the movie and she looked at me like I was crazy when I told her that. She then told me that I'd had a deprived childhood and had to read the book. I finished it over the weekend and loved it-as Betsy expected. And I'm really surprised I never read it before. I guess I did have a deprived childhood-especially compared to someone who claims that she lived in the library as a child. And apparently her grandmother read to her every night before she went to bed. The thing that Betsy probably doesn't realize about herself is that she gives you little clues about her past and her personality in conversations.

"The only thing new around here is Jamie," she replied as she hung up her coat. "He moved back from Ecuador and started working here on Tuesday. He's still getting the hang of things but I think he'll be a good fit. But we're getting some new books in this afternoon, so if you stop by later today or sometime tomorrow, I might be able to help you find something."

When I stepped up to the counter, I saw a magazine opened to the page with the article George Wick-McMahon had written about how I never read books; I just watched movies. It was a complete load of crap. But what else I could I expect from someone who spent all of third grade stealing other people's lunch money? He also asked three girls to go to our senior prom with him-and they all accepted. Then he stood all of them up and went with a fourth girl. He tried to seduce my younger sister, Jules, to get at her fortune and my dad is hot on his tail for that. George had never been a gentleman or a decent human being-although it took a long time to convince my dad of that. But lawsuits are one way to handle him-and one reason I'm glad I'm a Williamson with connections to the power to handle someone like him. I don't like manipulating people but I'm not afraid to do it if it needs to be done for the sake of my family or my reputation. I do not and will not and would not date my students.

The magazine page was covered with greasy fingerprints and comments and edits made in green pen. "Who did this?" I asked.

"Betsy," Jamie replied. "She thinks this guy is a horrible writer and he's been writing all these columns about some guy she figures he just has some childhood grudge against. So she edits his columns and calls him a shithead."

I looked over at Betsy who was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting. "What?" she said.

"So you're defending me against the shithead Wick-McMahon?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I'd like to hear your side of the story too, but I think he's full of crap."

"Why do you say that?"

"He just doesn't seem very believable."

People generally believed George before they believed me. They just find him friendlier. Maybe he doesn't come off as well in written form as he does in person. Betsy's edits seemed to display a slight dislike for him. The word "MORON" is written in multiple places. In another place, she'd scrawled "I can't believe that anyone would ever seriously publish this guy-let alone let him write several articles for them."

"So you're Mark Williamson?" Jamie asked.

I nodded. "And you're Jamie apparently."

"Jamie Malloy, at your service," he replied. "What can I get for you?"

"A medium soy latte and a blueberry bagel toasted with cream cheese, to go please," I replied.

"That'll be $6.52," he replied.

I handed him cash and asked, "Are you the Jamie that Lucas always talks about?"

He nodded "I'm the infamous ex-boyfriend that Lucas really wanted Betsy to marry."

"I've heard of you. My friend, Kevin, is dating Jenna."

"Oh yes," he said. "I've heard about Kevin. He's famous around here."

"He was in here yesterday while you were working, Jamie," Betsy said.

"I wasn't paying attention. I was reading."

Betsy sighed. "Boys and their silly excuses for everything, I knew there was a reason we weren't together anymore."

"I thought it was my twenty-seven month long trip to Ecuador."

"Nah," she replied. "That was only a secondary excuse. I was just bored of your silly excuses for things."

He rolled his eyes. "She's crazy."

"James Malloy, I had to listen to my mother and two of my sisters via telephone last night."

"Haven't you ever heard of hanging up on someone?"

"If I did that, Mom would just come over and yell at me in person."

While they kept talking, I wandered over to look at the books. I heard a lot of talk about someone named "Collins." I found this interesting because just the night before my stepmother-Claire Devereaux-had told me that she was getting slightly disturbing letters from a person whose last name was Collins and needed her to know that she was the greatest thing ever born. She thought it was adorable; I thought it was disgusting. Claire is awful, egotistical, and a little crazy. She thinks I should marry my stepsister, Annalisa. Amanda has as much personality as a sheet of blank paper crumpled up in the trashcan. And that's a direct quote from my younger sister, Juliana-yes, she is the Jules that Wick-McMahon tried to go after this past spring.

"Mark, your order is ready," Jamie called.

I took it and said my good-byes. And then I headed off to work.

* * *

On Thursday mornings at ten o'clock, I taught Introduction to British Literature, Part Two. It's a pretty basic course for someone with a doctorate to be teaching but the fact of the matter is that I wanted to teach it. I also teach three sections of a class that focuses on Jane Austen. But I enjoy teaching general Brit lit. It's fun. The students aren't always thrilled to get there but I get to teach my interests. The class period is an hour and a half. I don't use the class to pick up girls-the way George Wick-McMahon would like you to believe I do; he, however, is willing to sink that low in his own classes. My class was reading the World War I poets like Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen. They were actually enjoying it more than I'd expected. "But Dr. Williamson, how do we know that this was the poet's meaning? Couldn't he actually be challenging the war protesters instead of supporting them?" one student asked as we discussed "Dulce et Decorum Est."

"That is a possibility," I replied. "However, we have documentation of Owen's personal opposition to the war. His biographers have documented this repeatedly."

"I guess it's just weird to me that someone would go from being a soldier to protesting the war," the student-a young woman, a sophomore I believe-who sat in the front row and appeared to love to romanticize life.

"It's not the most common thing ever," I replied. "But it has happened before and in all likelihood it will happen again."

She sighed. "But I just don't like the idea that a solider goes off to war and then becomes bitter and jaded about it. Soldiers are supposed to be noble and honorable."

"Miss Schultz," I said. "Are you saying that Owen's poetry isn't noble?"

She chewed on her lip for a minute or so and shrugged. "No, it's beautiful and good and so I guess that makes it noble."

"But you don't like the idea of him as war protester."

She shook her head.

"Then maybe you should consider writing your next paper about Owen's poetry. Research why he thought the way he did."

She looked at me. "Really? You really think I should do that?"

We were in a lecture hall with over one hundred students in it. So I told her that she should talk to me during office hours. Some people just don't realize that there are some things you don't need to discuss in front of an entire lecture hall. I once had a student spill her guts about her mom's battle with cancer in the middle of a discussion of a discussion of King Lear. In the age of Facebook and blogging and text messaging people often are too open with their own emotions in all arenas of life because they have forgotten that there are natural barriers between people and we are not all each other's best friends who need to hear all the news about each others' lives.

Then you spend time around people like Betsy who will give you important information occasionally but are generally playing their cards pretty close to their vest. Jenna is another one. As far as I can tell, Kevin is far more interested in her than she is in him. She seems happy when she's with him but very quiet and reserved. She doesn't seem to be putting as much of herself into the relationship as he does. Emily makes a big deal about the fact that they having put "Kevin Bingham is in a relationship with Jenna Bennet" on Facebook yet but I don't really think that's a big deal. Kevin almost never uses his Facebook page anyway.

What I am worried about is Jenna's apparent disinterest in Kevin at times. She seems so quiet at times around him. She doesn't talk and talk and talk like her sister does sometimes. Betsy can be very chatty; she won't necessarily tell you the important things but she'll still tell you things. She'll tell you what new books have come in and what book she thinks you should read next. But she won't tell you about her personal crises. She won't tell you about the store's problems or her personal difficulties-although I did wonder why she told Jamie that she wanted to be adopted. I knew that her mother wasn't the ideal mother. But could she really be so bad? After all, why would Dr. Bennet stay married a woman whose children so obviously disliked her and didn't respect her? He was an intelligent man. I didn't know how their younger daughters felt about her and Jenna tried to remain neutral about her mother, but that didn't really mean anything because Jenna appeared to try to remain neutral and happy about everything. She's very sweet and good-natured. It's hard to tell how she really feels about anything. Jenna just smiles and nods about anything. You never know what she's really thinking or feeling. That bothers me. I have no clue how she really feels about Kevin. It looks like she's just along for the ride or something. She doesn't seem very serious about a long-term relationship with him.

I feel as though I need to explain something about Kevin at this juncture. His family is pretty wealthy and he is really easy-going. (Emily, on the other hand, is not.) He doesn't realize that women are willing to go after him for his money. His sister is well aware of it but he just dates girls he likes and it takes him forever to realize that they're more interested in his money than they are in him as a person. And I'm just afraid that Jenna doesn't know how to tell him "no, I'm not interested in you" or she is complimented by the attention or she's only interested in his bank account. Maybe I'm just assuming the worst of her and she's really a great person who really is interested in my friend. After all, I really shouldn't treat her in the way Mr. Darcy treated Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley in Pride and Prejudice.

Sometimes I wonder about my life in the past few months since I came to Michigan. I came here because Charlie was coming here and I thought the opportunity to teach at the University of Michigan would be great. And it is a great place. They had an open position that was perfect for me and I got it. Then I met a family with five daughters-one of whom was named Elizabeth. I don't think I insulted her the night we met but you never know; I'm not always very good at first impressions. I'm a reserved person at times.

Then my best friend started dating a girl named Jenna Bennet-which isn't too far off from Jane Bennet. Jenna has a really nice, very independent, quite beautiful younger sister named Elizabeth who has a pair of fine eyes. Elizabeth and I get along fine but things are perfect. And then there is this obnoxious guy who keeps trying to ruin my reputation-like Wickham and Darcy. Now Betsy Bennet doesn't seem to buy the stories that Wick-McMahon is publishing about me. And I'm suing the guy for libel. And my dad is after him for his attempts to his hands on our family via Juliana earlier in the year. That guy is a slimy asshole-kind of like George Wickham.

But maybe I'm just reading things into this. I don't know if this Collins that Betsy and Jamie were talking about is anything like the Collins in the book. But if we need a Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my stepmother Dr. Claire Devereaux would be the perfect person to fill the role. She's self-centered, obnoxious, convinced that Annalisa and I should get married, loves meddling in other people's lives, convinced that she is an expert on anything and everything, and very classist/social elitist.

But I'm probably just reading too much into a bunch of random coincidences.

* * *

Around five, I got a phone call from Kevin inviting me to join him, Jenna, Betsy, Jamie, and Emily for dinner. I accepted and he told me to meet them at the Knit 'n' Lit. When I got there around five-thirty, Emily told me that "we should just book it out of here and go some place romantic together. We don't need everyone else to have a lovely evening."

"Sorry, Em, but I'm actually here for your brother," I replied. "I was hoping to spend time with Kevin."

"But Jenna and Betsy the hippie freak are here. Why would you want to spend time with them when you could be spending time with sophisticated me?"

Dear God, can you please kill either her or me, please? What did I ever do to deserve her?

"So, Lucas, where is your sister?" Betsy said as she walked out of the storeroom.

"She has a date with some weird guy," Lucas replied from behind the cash register.

"Some weird guy?" she repeated.

"Yeah, he's a professor at Washtenaw or something. She met him at Jerusalem Garden when she went to get lunch today. They got talking and he asked her out."

"Huh," Betsy said. "That's a little weird. I never saw Carlye as the go-out-with-a-random-stranger type."

Lucas shrugged. "I didn't either but you know my sister. I think she likes to be unpredictable sometimes."

"Of course she does," Jenna inserted. "You two wrote the book on being unpredictable. And she lives with Betsy and Lucas is her brother and she works with both of you. I think that sometimes she just wants to be more like you two."

"So she goes out on a date with some random guy?" Betsy asked her sister.

The oldest Bennet sister shrugged.

"Has she really never just gone out with a random guy?" Emily asked.

Betsy nodded. "She doesn't go out much to begin with."

"How boring," Emily replied.

I sighed and wondered how Kevin never realized how awful his sister could be. Kevin seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his sister was insulting Lucas's sister. But Kevin always liked to have a good opinion of someone. Me, it was hard to win my good opinion and if you lost it, you could forget about it; you were never getting it back. I'm very determined, very set in my ways. My stepsister, Violet, calls me a curmudgeon. (Violet is my mom's stepdaughter, not my dad's, and is not related to Claire or Annalisa in anyway. She's fifteen and an absolute sweetheart, but all three of my mom's stepdaughters are great-unlike my dad's one stepdaughter.) Violet has also tried to convince me that I'm really ninety-eight years old. But that's what younger sisters (and stepsisters) are for.

* * *

"I can't wait for Christmas," Jenna said as we walked down the street. We were going to the Gandy Dancer, which is a nicer restaurant but someplace that we all really wanted to go.

Kevin looked at her. "Really? This is will be my first Christmas in America."

"I thought we were all going home for Christmas with our parents this year," Emily interjected. "You, Mark, and I were going to spend Christmas at Mum and Dad's place in the country."

"I'm going to St. Paul," I said. "Jules and I are spending Christmas with Mom and Robert and their family. Plus, I figure that I should at least stop by and see Dad and Claire."

"But you've always spent Christmas with our family!"

"Only when I was living in England and didn't really have the time or money to go home for Christmas," I replied.

"Why didn't your parents pay for you to fly home?" Betsy asked.

I shrugged. "I didn't want them to. My parents are divorced and if my mom had paid for it, my dad would have started a family fight about it. And if my dad had paid for it, my mom and her husband would have felt like they needed to give me an inordinately expensive gift as well. Plus, transatlantic plane tickets at Christmastime are inordinately expensive; I can't ask my family to pay for something like that when I'm an adult and earning my own way in the world. It's also just not worth it to go home and listen to my family squabble."

"Your family can't be that bad," Betsy replied.

"You've never met my stepmother. She's like Cruella Deville on steroids."

"And I thought my mom was bad."

"Oh come on, Betsy," Jenna protested. "Mom isn't that bad. She just wants to see us happily married."

Betsy then whispered something in her sister's ear that made her sister wince and sigh, then nod. And then they kept walking-Jenna with Kevin, Betsy with Jamie. And I was stuck with Emily who wanted to hang on me. So I decided to ask Jamie about living in Ecuador. "So how did you celebrate Christmas in Ecuador?" I asked, mostly because even though it was barely November, Christmas seemed to be on the brain that night.

"Those of us from the Peace Corps would celebrate with the locals. My primary responsibility was for teaching at the local school and there was one family in the village that adopted me as another son to their family. So I would spend Christmastime with them. They had several children and it was almost as lively as my own family Christmases are."

"Jamie comes from a large Irish-Catholic family," Betsy told me.

"Only six children," Jamie told her. "There are fewer of us than there were in this family. But we seem like a larger family because my sisters are so loud."

"He has four sisters, just like me," she explained.

I laughed. "I have four stepsisters and one 'real' sister." I made quotation marks with my fingers as I said "real."

"Four stepsisters?" Betsy repeated.

"Annalisa is my father's stepdaughter; and Iris, Violet, and Scarlett are my mom's stepdaughters. So we never have all four of them together. But at family celebrations with my mom's family, we do have four girls, the oldest of whom is twenty-one."

"That's Juliana," Emily inserted. "She is absolutely divine and I adore her."

I shook my head and smiled. Jules did not share Emily's enthusiastic affections but rather found my best friend's older sister annoyed and affected. "Jules is a great girl," I said. "But I also love Iris, Violet, and Scarlett."

"They're nice too," Emily said. "But Juliana is my favorite."

I sighed. "So how do the Ecuadorians celebrate Christmas?"

But before Jamie had a chance to respond, we were standing outside the restaurant. And the conversation was at an end.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I do not own Pride and Prejudice. I do love reviewers. And I do own Mark's forewords to the books.

* * *

"_People often impose their personal opinions, wishes, desires, and biases on situations. We humans are fallible and we often use our heads to twist situations to what we want/need them to be. An example of this would be Catherine Morland's visit to Northanger Abbey. She had spent so much of her time reading gothic novels that she subconsciously expected her life to become one. Catherine did not realize that she had come into a relatively normal house in which resided a relatively normal family because she was not expecting that situation. Fortunately for her, Henry Tilney was willing to forgive her mistakes." _

_-Mark Williamson's foreword to a 2010 edition of __Northanger Abbey_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Carlye went on a date the first Thursday of November that year. But she didn't tell Lucas or me with whom. I went out to dinner with Kevin, Jenna, Jamie, Emily, and Mark. Aside from Emily, it was actually pretty fun. Mark is serious and quiet. But I think that's more a sign of a reserved personality than a sign of being a horrible person. He was very interested in Jamie's experiences in Ecuador and kept asking questions so we ended up staying out until around ten o'clock.

Carlye usually stays up until eleven or twelve, watching TV and reading. But when I got home that night, she wasn't awake. She was in her room, asleep. I really wanted to know who this mystery man was. She went out with some random guy that she met while picking up lunch? That's not Carlye's style. I know her; she's my roommate, my best friend, and I've known her forever. She doesn't just date random guys. She has to build relationships, date friends, and ruin friendships. Okay, she doesn't do that part on purpose but it ends up happening. She becomes friends with a guy and drags him into all of our lives, falls for him, they start dating, they break up, and the guy disappears from all of our lives. But she's just gone on one date with this random guy. Maybe she'll never see him again. One date does not a marriage make-usually.

* * *

The next morning, Carlye had left for work when I got up. And I didn't get to see her until I got to work at noon. Work was not the place to talk about these kinds of things-much. Lucas would probably bring it up. But Carlye wasn't the type to talk about this kind of stuff while working. Carlye has always been the sort to put the job first when at work. Lucas was the one who picked on personal details-constantly, of course.

* * *

Carlye was in the stockroom when I arrived. I threw my coat and lunch in the break-room, accepted a cup of tea from Jamie, and reminded Lucas that I sign his paychecks before going to the yarn side of the shop to talk to a customer. Cheryl, who had just started learning to knit in September, was very interested in learning how to make a sweater. "Knitting sweaters is hard," I cautioned her. "And it's definitely not something that I'd take on right away. All you've made is a scarf."

"But I love seeing the hand-knitted sweaters you wear," she protested. "And I want to make my daughter something for Christmas. I know she'd just love one of those tunic sweaters you wear."

"I understand. But I think it might be best to keep practicing on more basic, simpler things. And then in the spring, I'll help you work on a sweater."

"But what can I make her?" she asked.

"Scarves, hand-warmers, blankets, those are all pretty easy."

"I could make her a blanket for her bed. She's always complaining about how cold her bedroom is."

I smiled. "That's a great idea. Why don't we find you a pattern you like then?"

While she was looking at patterns, Carlye came out of the stockroom and over to me, carrying a box filled with yarn. "From Marcy," she said with a smile. "One hundred skeins in four different color waves for us to sell, isn't it great?"

I reached into the box and took out a skein that was blues and purples mixed. "It's beautiful and so soft."

She grinned. "I love this stuff."

"You've got a great eye for this kind of stuff," I told her. "You're really good with color and texture."

"I was the art major out of the three of us. You were English, Luke was business, and I was just the art major who didn't really know what she wanted to do. I kind of just tagged along into this venture."

"You're a co-owner," I told her quietly, not wanting our customers to hear this conversation. Part of Carlye's professionalism at work stemmed from her insecurities about her role in the shop. Another sign of her insecurities and her professionalism were the clothes she wore. She always wore business casual apparel and dressed much better than Lucas or I did. I generally wore jeans or cute dresses with casual but pretty clothes. I also wore a lot of hand-knits.

"You sign everyone's paychecks except your own and Luke signs that one."

"I bet he'd let you sign it if you really wanted to," I teased but I knew that wasn't the real issue.

"I don't want that. I just don't feel like I have anything in my life that is entirely my own. I work here and live with you. I share everything with you or someone else in my family. Ever since Luke was born, I've always been sharing something with someone."

"And you want something that's all your own."

"I'm twenty-seven years old, I'm not married, I rent an apartment, and I only co-own a store with my brother and my best friend."

"But you love the Knit 'n' Lit!" I protested.

"But it's not mine, wholly and entirely mine. And I want something in my life that's wholly and entirely mine. I don't want to wake up thirty years from now and realize that you and Luke and Jenna and Jamie have all outdone me in life. You've all done things that matter, that were solely about you, and you do things that only you can do. I don't."

"I need to help this customer," I told her, patting her shoulder. "But we need to talk about this. We need to find you something in this store that is wholly and entirely your own."

And then I helped Cheryl find a great pattern for a blanket for her daughter. We picked out three different colors of yarn-pink, purple, and green-and found her just the right needles for the project. I promised to help her with it whenever she got stuck or was confused or had any questions. She looked so happy when she left. That's what I love about my job; I love making people happy and helping them to find the perfect thing.

* * *

In retrospect, with all that I know now, I should have realized that Carlye was trying to tell me something that day. But I was busy and thinking about work and I thought that she was thinking about work. And in a way she was. But in a way, she was also thinking about her date from the night before. But I didn't know that. I knew that Carlye had insecurities and hesitations about her job and I thought that was the problem on the table.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, I found Carlye outside, behind the shop. She was smoking and staring off into the unknown. She doesn't smoke much, mostly when she's stressed or confused. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"I'm almost twenty-eight years old and I'm not married yet."

I looked at her. "That's not a huge deal."

She looked at me and shook her head. "You're twenty-four, Betsy. It's different for you. No one is expecting you to get married right away."

"Carlye, dear," I said with a smile. "Have you met my mother? Her goal in life is to see me happily married in the next ten minutes."

"I know but it's different. I want to get married. I would love to get married and be a mother and have my own home. But I'm alone."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "That's not true. You have me! And you've got Jenna and Lucas."

"Lucas is my brother," she protested firmly; it seemed like she was determined to be grouchy. "He's required to spend time with me."

"We're required to spend time with our siblings?" I asked. "Shit, that means I need to make up about ten or fifteen years of neglect to Mabel, Cam, and Lucy-Maud."

That got her to crack a smile. "Your family and my family are different. We're closer than you guys are."

"I don't think that means that your parents require Lucas to spend time with you or work with you. I'm pretty sure he does that voluntarily. I know I do."

She squeezed my hand. "Betsy, you're a good friend, but you're in a different place in your life than I am in mine. And you are a different person than I am."

I nodded. "I can understand that."

* * *

I went back inside after that because Carlye didn't seem likely to volunteer any more information. She remained in that "state" for the next several weeks. She went out on dates with her mystery man but never told any of us who he was. Lena asked. I asked. Lucas asked. Jamie asked. Jenna asked. Kevin asked. We all asked-multiple times. Hell, even Mark Williamson asked one night shortly before Christmas when he was at the shop looking at Kathy Reichs books with me. Carlye looked at him and told him it was none of his business. "I was just curious," he told me. "Did I do something wrong?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, she's just being really secretive about this guy. It's like she doesn't want us to know who he is or something."

"Maybe she likes mystery."

"She never did before. She's always been open with her relationships. Carlye's motto is the same as Charlotte Lucas's-when in a relationship, express more than you feel so that the guy is more likely to stick around for the long haul."

Mark bit his lip and I could tell that he was trying to suppress an opinion or a thought. I was still trying to figure him out-you know, form an impression or make a sketch of his character. I didn't know him well enough to know how he would feel about what Carlye had said. I wasn't entirely sure, but I was pretty sure that he was older than Carlye. And he wasn't married or dating anyone.

"Just say it," I told him.

"Just say what?" he asked me, looking innocent.

I smiled. "You want to say something. Just tell me what it is."

He shook his head. "I shouldn't say it."

I sighed and shook my own head. "C'mon, tell me."

He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and laughed. "Someone likes to get her own way."

"I don't get my own way very much. I like to try to get it when I can."

Mark laughed. "Betsy, I like Carlye and she's your best friend, your roommate, and your business partner. I'm not going to say rude things about her in front of you."

"I hate being disappointed."

"If you really want to know," he said with a sigh and then shrugged. "I guess I just think that's a dumb attitude. I don't get why, in this day and age, someone would pretend to feel more than they feel. The marriage market that Jane Austen had to contend with is closed. People can marry for love."

"Carlye thinks she's getting old and guys won't be interested in her anymore."

"Lame," he replied; I never saw Mark Williamson as the type of person to call someone or something lame. "My mom got married when she was in her early forties."

"But that was her second marriage, wasn't it?"

"Sure, but someone was still willing to marry a forty-one-year old with two children. Carlye will find someone; she isn't a forty-one-year old with two children. She has much less baggage than my mom did when she married Robert. She shouldn't settle or pretend to feel things that she doesn't."

"Well, it hasn't really seemed to work for her," I admitted.

He nodded. "But she hasn't told anyone who this current guy is?"

I shook my head. "I live with her and I've never heard his name or seen so much as a note or a flower from him."

"Wow, he doesn't even give her flowers? What kind of a schmuck never even gives his girlfriend a dandelion?"

"Justin Collins," I said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"He's just this guy my family knows. And he totally would never give a girl a flower."

Mark shook his head. "That's sad."

"He says flowers just wither and die and it's not worth spending the money."

"Well that's a cheerful perspective. You could tell him that really we humans wither and die too. It just takes longer for us to wither and die than it does for flowers."

"That's an optimistic view on things."

"I prefer the term realist."

I smiled. Mark Williamson was defying my expectations. I had though of him as a snob and a jerk. But he was funny. He was quiet but he could (and would) talk and joke and laugh. And he made me laugh. I loved that. I love it when guys make me laugh.

* * *

A bit later, I was sitting by the fireplace talking to my sister. "I hate sparkling cherry juice," she told me before taking a sip of tea. "It's so sweet and kind of syrupy."

"Let me guess," I replied. "You went to another teacher's party over the weekend?"

It was a Monday afternoon in mid-December and I hadn't seen my sister in a few days. She nodded before picking up her knitting again. She was still working on a sweater for Kevin. "Kevin and I went to a dinner party at Beth's house and it was great. But there was no booze. Most of the other teachers serve booze but not Beth. Beth just serves sparkling juice. And sparkling cherry juice is weird."

I laughed and picked up my own knitting. I was making a sweater for Mabel as a Christmas present. Mae, in my opinion, needs more attention and needs to be drawn out of herself; she lives inside her head and mind without much intervention from the outside world. She doesn't have much knowledge of the outside world and she dresses like it. She has what even Jenna calls "homeschooler hair" and wears clothes that were quite possibly never in fashion with the possible exception of Queen Victoria's lifetime. I make my sister sweaters that are modest but at the same time, more in keeping with the twenty-first century. I want her to know that she is beautiful and I don't think that she knows that. Earlier I said that my mom often told me that I wasn't as pretty as Jenna. Well, she frequently told Mae flat out that she "is not pretty and never will be pretty."

"You're lost in your thoughts," Jenna said looking at me.

I shook out the dark blue sweater in my lap. "I'm thinking about Mae."

"Is that what you're making her for Christmas?"

I nodded. "She needs something more modern than floor-length skirts and turtlenecks."

"But Betsy, that's what she likes."

"Jenna, I don't think that Mae has chosen these things because she likes them but because she thinks that they're all that she deserves. Mom tells her that she isn't as smart or as pretty or as talented or as funny as the rest of us. It stuck in her head. And now she thinks of herself the way Mom describes her."

Jenna shrugged. "I guess that makes sense. But I don't like that way it paints Mom."

"Oh c'mon," I protested. "We both know that Mom is never going to be on par with Mother Teresa. It's okay to say that she doesn't treat Mae very nicely."

"I just don't like judging Mom. I'm sure she has her own reasons for what she does."

"Of course she does but that doesn't mean that they're good reason."

"I don't like it that people are flawed," my sister admitted.

I looked at her. With her neat, straight honey blonde hair, brown plaid trouser pants, cream blouse, and brown jacket, she looked like the picture of sweetness and innocence. She'd always looked like the picture of innocence. When we were children, she was always the one who picked flowers and jumped rope while I tied Mae up with jump ropes and got grass stains all over my nice clothes. When I was in third grade, my teacher, who had taught Jenna the year before, told my parents that "I don't understand Betsy. Jenna was so calm and placid but Betsy is so willful and spirited. She never sits still and she always wants to be talking or reading or doing something. She told me once that she just has to be doing something at all times. She is so different from her sister. It's like night and day between them."

That was sixteen years earlier and it still was night and day between Jenna and me. She didn't like to believe that people are flawed or will make mistakes and I tended to think the worst of people and be very distrustful by nature. She is more open and I am more closed. But in another way, I am more open and she is more closed. She is very careful when it comes to expressing her emotions. She hasn't been very open about how deeply she feels about Kevin. I know that she loves him. And she does love him. She's making him a sweater. That is love. I'm still a firm believer in the curse of the boyfriend sweater but I know that my sister is making this cursed object because she loves Kevin. I see this as the closest she will get to a public declaration of her feelings for him. Others differ. I've heard Emily muttering under her breath about how she thinks that Jenna is a "gold-digger" and "pretending to be something that she isn't to get a guy who is far too good for the likes of a dog-faced whore like her."

With all of this in mind, I told my sister that all humans are flawed; it's part of our nature. We should try to be the best possible versions of ourselves but not everyone does this.

"But she is our mother. We're supposed to respect her, love her, and not think bad things about her."

"I try to respect her and think good things about her. But she makes it difficult when she's always trying to tell me who I should marry."

"She is pretty determined to see me married to Kevin," my sister confessed.

"At least she has good taste this time," I replied as Lucas came rushing out of the backroom where he'd been working.

"My mom just called to tell me that Carlye is bringing a date to Christmas dinner," he announced breathlessly when he reached us.

I looked at him. "Do we have a name yet?"

"Just a first name," he said. "And you're not going to like it at all."

"Well, tell me."

"Justin," he replied.

"And you're thinking he's Justin Collins."

"Why else would she hide it from us?"

I sighed. "Can I please go outside and scream and cry like a four-year-old?"

"Don't let me stand in your way," he replied.

I set down my knitting, stood up, and hugged him. "You're a good egg, Luke."

And then I went outside to scream. But Mark followed me out-ostensibly because he had just paid for his purchases and now needed to go meet a colleague for dinner. Okay, this was probably one scenario in which the ostensible explanation was the truth. But still, I wanted to scream. "Go ahead," he said. "I'm not going to stop you."

I sighed. "Why is she doing this? Doesn't she know how stupid she's being? Who the heck would do something like that?"

He looked at me. "I have no clue what you're talking about but I'm sorry for whatever it is."

I bit my lip and sighed. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch the people that you love do things that you know are stupid and will hurt them in the long run?"

Mark nodded. "I know plenty of people who do that all the time. It's the curse of humanity. People do things thinking of the short-term benefits without thinking of the long-term consequences."

* * *

Those words did not make walking in on Charlotte and Justin Collins making out on my couch any easier. I got home from work around 9:30, about half an hour earlier than usual for a Monday. And there they were-giving each other a basic anatomy lesson of the upper body. I coughed loudly and then shut the door firmly. They both jumped and pulled apart. He coughed. She ran a hand through her hair. And all I said before making a run for my bedroom was "I guess Mark was right about people. People suck. I hate them."

* * *

From my bedroom, I could hear them fumbling around and then I heard the door open and shut. Then Carlye came into my bedroom-without knocking, I might add-and flopped on my bed. "Betsy, say you'll forgive me. I like him. Can't you understand that? I know you hate him but I need him. I need a man. And he likes me. I think he loves me."

I sighed. "Carlye, I just don't understand why you hid this from me for so long."

"You don't like him," she replied.

"But I love you and I would have at least been willing to listen to you. But this sneaking around and hiding from me, I can't respect that. And I also don't respect dating him just because you feel alone and you know that he likes you."

"I'm twenty-seven years old. I'm old. I just want to be loved and wanted."

It was at moments like this when Carlye really reminded me of Charlotte Lucas from Pride and Prejudice. I know Charlotte had to get married before her sisters did and she needed to get married so that she would not be a financial burden to her brothers when her father died. Carlye would not be a financial burden to anyone when her father died. She was financially independent. She was making this decision for purely emotional reasons. But I was afraid to call her out on it.

"What do you see in him?" I asked her calmly. "Tell me honestly."

"He's nice to me. He notices me."

I sighed. "He's nice to me too. But I wouldn't date him. He expects me to change too much. He told me that if we got married, I'd have to quit Knit 'n' Lit. I could never do that."

"I could," she replied. "And I'd do it in a heartbeat if it meant that I was married. The shop doesn't mean as much to me as it does to you and Luke. It's your baby; it's only my niece or nephew."

"You could genuinely leave the shop behind forever? You'd sell your part of it and never work there again?"

Carlye nodded. "I could do that for the right guy and I think that he's the right one."

I took a deep breath. "Then good luck."

She grinned. "Thanks, Betsy. Your support really means the world to me. I really want this relationship to last."

* * *

She didn't leave the Knit 'n' Lit right away. Although it wasn't her goal, it gave Lucas and I time to look for a third partner. And we never would have imagined who her replacement would wind up being.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I do not own the obvious. And I am very grateful to all of my reviewers. Please keep them coming.

* * *

"_While Mr. Darcy is the most popular Austen hero, I think that most modern women would prefer to be in a relationship with Mr. Knightley. Knightley and Emma have a solid relationship built on years of friendship. While Emma does not always like Knightley and he does not agree with everything that she does, they respect each other. Darcy and Elizabeth struggle against both pride and prejudice throughout the novel-both their own personal pride and prejudices but also those of other characters; this makes their relationship more complicated. _

_Personally, I would rather be Knightley than Darcy. I've said this previously in this book. __Sense and Sensibility__ is my favorite book by Jane Austen. I'm not sure why but it is. But I can relate to Knightley more than to any other Austen hero. I also can elate, as previously stated, to Edward Ferrars and Henry Tilney. There is also a part of me that really loves and admires Captain Wentworth from __Persuasion__. My sister-in-law describes him as a 'warrior but not a gentleman.' She subsequently refers to Knightley as a 'gentleman but not a warrior.' But I, like my wife, disagree with this assessment. I think that both men are gentlemen and warriors. And that, to me, is ideal. As men, we should strive to be both warriors and gentlemen."_

_-Mark F. Williamson, __Why Austen?__ (2012)_

* * *

A week before Christmas, Emily and Kevin went back to England. They would return for New Year's Eve. Mark was going to St. Paul to visit his family. The rest of us were staying in Ann Arbor. Carlye and Justin were now publicly (and disgustingly, according to both Lucas and Mark) dating. Jenna thought they were adorable but Jenna thinks everyone is adorable; she thinks that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are cuter than baby bunnies. I think they're obnoxious but I'm not much for celebrities to begin with.

Jamie was still at the Knit 'n' Lit; we asked him if he wanted to buy out Carlye's third of the shop if and when she left. He said he couldn't afford it. "I'm sorry," he told us. "But I just don't have the money right now."

After Jamie walked out of the office where Luke and I were sitting, Luke looked at me. "Then who are we going to get to help us? My sister and Justin are talking about getting engaged and moving to St. Paul. I guess that his hero, Dr. Devereaux, has her own school and there's a position opening there in January."

"So they're going to move there?"

"That's what Justin wants. And Carlye wants to get married."

I sighed. "We have a business to run. If Carlye leaves, she wants to give up her shares in the store and we need to replace her. Jamie can't do it. So who can we get to help us out?"

"Talk to your dad."

I blinked. "Why would I talk to my dad? Don't get me wrong. I love him and all but I don't get what he has to do with this."

"Betsy, your dad is the head of the English department at the University of Michigan. There has to be someone in his department who would be interested in buying into this store."

"I guess he might be able to help us."

"So ask him. Some of those professors shop here once in a while. Mark likes it here."

"That's true. But he doesn't knit."

Lucas sighed. "But he is rich. Maybe he would be willing to buy out Carlye."

"It's a possibility but I doubt it. Mark doesn't seem like the kind of person who would buy shares in a knitting store."

"But he might buy shares in a bookstore. Stop being such Debbie Downer."

I sighed. "I'll talk to my dad. And when Mark gets back from visiting his family in January, I'll ask him about buying the store."

"Thank you, Princess."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a princess."

"That's arguable."

* * *

Three things happened two days before Christmas. Firstly, Jamie asked me to be his date for New Year's Eve. I accepted. Secondly, Jenna received an email from Kevin informing her that he wouldn't be back until the day before the semester began due to "some unforeseen family drama." And thirdly, Justin was formally offered the position at the Devereaux School in St. Paul. Justin and Carlye were officially moving to St. Paul. "You'll need to find someone to sublease your half the rent until the lease is up," I told her.

"I can do that," she replied. "I'll put up a sign on the community notices board in the shop."

"Can you be more discreet?" I asked her

She sighed. "Can't we just do this easily? It's just until July."

"I'd rather not live with a stranger for six months."

"It's only six months."

"You met Justin and fell in love with him in less than two months."

Carlye rolled her eyes. "Love is different than a relationship with a roommate."

"I just want to live with someone that I know I'll like half as much as I loved living with you."

"You should live with Jamie."

"I wish," I told her, flopping onto her bed next to a box labeled "BOOKS" with pink permanent marker. "But he lives with your brother, smart one."

"Oh fine, I'll talk to our friends and get back to you."

"Thanks, dear," I replied pulling To Kill a Mockingbird out of the box.

"Do you want that book?"

I shook my head. "I own a bookstore and my own copy of the book. I'm good."

"No worries, what about my clothes, do you want any of them?"

"Carlye, why are you offering me your clothes?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Justin is getting me a job at the Devereaux School as a secretary. I'm not going to need my artsy clothes anymore. And they'll fit you."

"You know that you're changing a lot about yourself for this guy."

"I know. But it's okay, Betsy. I love him. He's a good guy."

I nodded. "I know but he's just a guy. Is a guy really worth giving up clothes and jobs for?"

"You've never been in love. When you meet Mr. Right, you'll be willing to leave the Knit 'n' Lit if he asks."

"You're wrong there. The Knit 'n' Lit is my life. I would never leave it even if it means letting go of Mr. Right."

"Are you obsessed with the shop?" she asked.

"No but it is insanely important to me. I love it and I could never leave it. It's my job. I love books and knitting. The shop is a way to channel those passions and share them with the world."

"It's just a business to me. It's not my passion."

I nodded and put the book back in the box. "Luke and I are looking for someone to buy out your share of the shop. You'll have to keep them until we find someone but we're looking. I'm going to talk to my dad about it soon and see if someone in the English department would be interested. And we'll let you know soon."

* * *

"Mark Williamson," my dad said without hesitation when I asked him if he knew anyone who would be interested in the Knit 'n' Lit.

I curled up in the chair opposite my dad's desk. It was Christmas Eve and I was spending the night at my parents' house. I was raised Catholic and my parents asked me to go to Christmas Eve Mass with them every year and then spend the night at their house so that we could all open presents as a family. I complied. It was late in the evening and it was the first time I'd been able to get daddy-daughter time with my dad in days.

I tugged the belt of my dark blue slouchy cardigan tighter and looked at him. "You really think that Mark would be interested in the Knit 'n' Lit?"

"I know he would. Betsy, Mark is a really smart guy. He loves books and he is well-off. He could afford to buy Carlye out."

"Dad, I know he likes the shop. He loves our café and the books, but I can't see him buying into a yarn shop."

My dad shrugged. "I think that there's more to Mark than you think. Talk to him. Just talk to him. It's just a phone call."

"Call him?" I asked. "Dad, he's on vacation. He's with his family."

"Call him next week. Or email him if you're afraid. But try him. I think that he's more open-minded than you think he is. Betsy, don't live up to the name that your mother gave you and treat him the way Lizzy treated Darcy."

"Are you saying that I'm Lizzy Bennet and Mark is Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

"Fitzwilliam means son of William. And it's fairly obvious what Williamson means."

I stopped and just looked at my dad. "Dad, what are you trying to tell me?"

"Don't become consumed by pride or prejudice," he replied. "Just be yourself and live your life."

* * *

"Kevin never called all day," Jenna told me at the end of the day on Christmas. We'd spent the day at our parents' house relaxing and enjoying my younger sisters' quibbling quarrels and we were back at my apartment watching the 1999 version of _Mansfield Park_. "He promised that he would call today and he didn't."

"Did he email you?" I asked. "Or at least send you a text?"

She shook her head. "Emily sent me a 'Happy Christmas!' text but I've heard nothing from her brother. I don't understand. It doesn't make sense."

I shrugged. "That doesn't sound like Kevin."

"Maybe he was tied up with family all day. It sounds like something is going on over there."

"Did he say what?"

"No, just that it involved his older sister, Laura, and her husband."

"I'm sure he'll call tomorrow," I told her.

"He has to," Jenna replied. "This isn't like Kevin. He always calls when he says he's going to. He's a reliable guy. He's a good guy."

"I know," I told her.

"He's not like him!" she said, pointing at Henry Crawford on the screen.

I laughed. "Who is he like?"

"Well, he's not Mr. Darcy; he's too friendly for that. And he's too smart to be Edmund Bertram. And he definitely isn't Henry Tilney. He's not Edward Ferrars; he's sweet and all but he's not gullible enough. He isn't manly enough to be Captain Wentworth. I think he's Mr. Knightley."

"You think that Knightley isn't as manly as Wentworth?"

She shrugged. "Wentworth is a warrior. Knightley is a gentleman."

"But Wentworth is also a gentleman. And in his own way, Knightley is a warrior."

"Wentworth always was your favorite," my sister sighed.

"My favorite book is Sense and Sensibility," I replied by way of protest.

"Did you know that that's Mark Fitzwilliam's favorite book too? Kevin told me that one day. I thought it was really weird because most people pick either Emma or Pride and Prejudice as their favorite Austen novel. And most people would assume that P and P has to be Mark's favorite because of his career."

"We've talked about that before," I said. "Mark and I were talking about how much he loves Sense and Sensibility a couple of months ago."

"I think it's kind of funny that he is basically an expert in Jane Austen and you're named after the heroine in the most popular and most famous book Jane ever wrote."

I laughed. "It's pure random coincidence."

"I think you two are meant to be. You'd have adorable children."

"Hand over that glass of wine," I replied. "You've had too much to drink."

She sighed and shook her fist at me before downing the rest of the glass of wine. "You know that sweater I was making for Kevin?"

I nodded. "Did you get it finished before he left?"

Jenna shook her head. "I thought I would but I keep getting caught up with work and running out of time. How did you get Lucas's sweater finished in only a month?"

"I don't do anything except work and knit and I can knit at work. Plus I really made that project my priority for a while."

"I just wanted to give it to him before he left. I wanted him to know how much I love him."

"Jenna, if he can't see that with his eyes, then he's blind and he doesn't deserve you," I told her as I kept knitting. I wasn't looking at the sweater I was making. I was watching my sister, concerned about her. One thing that my mom had always gotten right about Jenna was that she was way more sensitive than I was. She was still crying her way through _Bambi_ at twenty-two. Me, I didn't even always cry at the end of _Gladiator_ at twenty-four; that depended on my mood and PMS and crap like that.

She shook her cell phone. "I don't get why he won't call me."

"Because it's fucking five o'clock in the morning in England," I replied.

"You're cranky when you're tired."

"Do you want to live with me when Carlye moves out?"

"Heck no, you're too bitchy for your own good especially when you're really tired. In case you forgot, I shared a bedroom with you all through the nineties and the early 2000s. I'm done sharing a living space with you."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Fine, I just offered. I didn't really want to live with you anyway."

"I like living with Mabel. I never see her. It's almost as good as living alone but I have someone to watch movies with me when I'm bored."

"St. Jenna, don't let Mommy hear you talking like that."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not perfect."

"Please inform our mother of that fact. She lives in a delusion in which you are the patron saint of children."

My sister laughed. "Mae is the best behaved of all of us."

"But you're the prettiest. And you have the angelic honey blonde hair."

"Hair does not make perfection."

"That's okay. I still love you."

* * *

Three days after Christmas I emailed Mark Williamson about buying Carlye's shares in the Knit 'n' Lit. I received a response less than an hour after I sent my email. Mark was interested and was, in fact, going to fly back to Michigan early to look into things. "He'll be here tomorrow," I told Lucas.

"Can he knit?" Jamie asked coming into the office.

"Can you?" I replied.

"I'm just your barista and cashier. I avoid the yarn like the plague. And I don't own the store."

"Lucas can't knit either."

Lucas nodded. "Yeah and she lets me co-own the store."

"She just feels sorry for you."

I laughed as Luke glared. "Malloy, I can end you."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "That's doubtful, Ormond."

"Just take them out and see which one is bigger," I sighed.

"Neither one of us knits," Jamie said. "And we're not really questioning each other's manhood. We're just being obnoxious."

"Just behave yourselves tomorrow when Mark is here. We want him to help us out."

"He'd be a good fit for the store," Lucas said. "He really knows his shit when it comes to books."

"We would have to hire someone to cover Carlye's shifts since I doubt that Mark would have much time to work in the store," I said.

"And you'd be completely in charge of yarn selection," Jamie told me. "Guys don't really know how to identify the different shades of purples."

"I could handle that. I just need someone to buy Carlye out of the store. And I need someone to sublease the apartment from her."

"Maybe Mark can do that," Lucas suggested. "After all, who would really want to live with Emily Bingham? She's awful."

"She's always throwing herself at Mark. It's disgusting," Jamie added.

"Do guys really notice stuff like that?" I asked.

"You mean when girls act like that?" my sort-of-ex-boyfriend said. "Yeah, we're not blind."

"We always wonder about that," I explained.

"She is really obvious about it all. When we were dating, you didn't touch me publicly just to make sure people saw that you and I were together. She does that. She grabs at Mark as if she's trying to make sure he doesn't escape her."

"She's gross and slimy."

I laughed. "Lucas, can you use your big boy words?"

Lucas shook his head. "I forgot all of them."

* * *

The next day, Mark Williamson walked into the Knit 'n' Lit wearing a black wool pea-coat and dark blue jeans. It was two o'clock, on the nose. I was behind the counter with Jamie. Lucas was in the back office. I smoothed my skirt; I'd decided to wear a hand-knit dress that I'd made the previous summer. It was gray and I was wearing it over a dark purple shirt with black tights and dark purple ballet flats. Lucas was wearing jeans and an orange flannel shirt. And Jamie was wearing his usual "uniform" of blue jeans and a long-sleeved Henley top-which was gray that day.

"This feels awkward," I whispered to Jamie.

"I bet the Hunsford proposal was more awkward," he replied.

And then I burst out laughing while Jamie grinned. "I'm trying to embarrass you in front of him," he whispered in my ear.

"Welcome," Lucas said coming out of the office. "Betsy and I are really glad you can be here today."

"Jamie, apparently, could care less," Jamie piped up with a ridiculous grin on his face.

"Jamie can go back to work while his bosses talk to Mr. Williamson," Lucas replied. "Or he can lose his job."

I shook Mark's hand during this exchange. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink before we talk?"

"Just a cup of tea and a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese would be great," he replied. "How was your Christmas?"

I nodded as I got him a cup of hot water for tea and toasted a bagel for him. "It was good. How was yours?"

"Very good," he replied.

"It's only four days after Christmas," I said. "Why didn't you stay with your family longer?"

"You don't come from a dysfunctional family. When your parents' divorce is anything but amicable, you don't want to spend much time around them because they end up using you as a pawn even though you're thirty years old and they've been divorced for the past seventeen years."

"But you have your sister and stepsisters, don't you?" I asked.

"And my half-brother," he replied. "I love spending time with my mom and her family but I'm not crazy about my dad's side of the family."

I nodded. "Well, personally, I'm glad you were able to come in and meet with us on such short notice."

"I'm glad to be here. I'm interested in hearing what you have to say. If I can, I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you financially. I do have the resources to do so readily at my disposal."

"Well, we're hoping that you'll be able to help us," I replied.

* * *

An hour later, we called Carlye and asked her to come over so we could start working on paperwork. Mark was indeed interested in buying out her shares. We would have to hire more employees to cover Carlye's shifts and I would be solely responsible for the fiber-arts portion of the shop. But with Mark's help, we would be able to keep the Knit 'n' Lit open. Mark was also willing to help me with selecting and maintaining our selection of books. He knows more about books than I do and would be a great asset to the store.

When she arrived, Carlye somehow ended up offering to sublease her half of our apartment to Mark when he mentioned that Emily Bingham "gets on my nerves once in a while." Mark ended up thinking this was a convenient solution. So Mark was just going to take over my life. He would be my roommate for the next six months and he would be my business partner. The problem with all of this was that I still wasn't crazy about Mark. He seemed to be arrogant and proud. I think he viewed himself as our hero, our savior, the only thing that kept us from closing the shop. And that wasn't entirely true. We had other options. But we were grateful to have him.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Please!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I don't own what you recognize. And yes, I really am taking liberties and changing things. It makes me happy. Don't sue me. I have to pay my heating bill.

**

* * *

Chapter Eight**

_

* * *

If there is one thing which I absolutely cannot stand it is intellectual snobbery. I received my first PhD at the age of twenty-six and have spent the ensuing fourteen years living and working in academia. There, I am constantly presented with the idea that our modern western society is the most advanced society on earth and we are infinitely superior to everything that came before us. Our views are the most enlightened. We are the most intelligent. We are better than everything that came before us. I don't believe that. I believe that, as Isaac Newton said, if we have seen further than others, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants. Our knowledge is good, yes. But we only attained it through the help of those who came before us. We are dwarves standing on the shoulders of giants. _

_This is how I view my work as a literary scholar. I am a dwarf standing on the shoulders of giants. My wife laughs at reading those words and immediately comments that I stand at six feet, four inches. I tower over the majority of my students and colleagues-physically. But I make no claims at wisdom; I merely claim to be very educated. And I'm not sure that's always a good thing. _

_-__An Introduction to Literary Criticism__ by Mark F. Williamson, 2019_

* * *

Carlye moved out on January 2 and Mark moved in the same day. I was excessively grateful that he couldn't move in any sooner because I was spending New Year's Eve with Jamie. And I didn't want another guy to interfere with that or be hanging around the apartment while Jamie and I were on a date.

And it was a wonderful New Year's Eve. We went out for dinner at Paesano's, my favorite Italian restaurant. Then we went back to my apartment and watching _The Last of the Mohicans_, my favorite movie. At midnight, we watched the ball fall and then he went home and I went to bed. We were both working the next day and needed to be at the Knit 'n' Lit at eight.

There was a midnight kiss, but it was just a quick peck on the lips. And it told me that I might still have a future with Jamie. There was still the same craziness and passion in our relationship. I could see things working out for us. I didn't know for how long but I saw potential in my relationship with Jamie for the first time in a long time.

* * *

And then Mark moved into my apartment. I had to share a bathroom with a boy for the first time in my life. And it was a boy who wasn't my brother or my boyfriend. It was kind of weird. I had to remind him to put the toilet seat down. He had to remind me to put my make-up away. We had to work out a shower schedule. We had to figure out a new chore roster. But he never brought girlfriends home. We lived in peace and quiet mostly. We both worked a lot and then came home late. I was working until close every night with Carlye gone. Mark beat me home every single night. Thankfully, he let me watch _Bones_ when I got home. And he made himself scarce when my sisters would randomly show up. And he answered Jenna's questions about Kevin-as far as he could.

* * *

Jenna had come over to our apartment the night before classes started at Michigan. "Kevin still hasn't called," she told me flopping on the couch. "Where's that roommate of yours? Maybe he knows something."

"He's in his room, reading," I told her. "Do you want to talk to him?"

She nodded.

"Mark!" I yelled. "Can you come here for a minute?"

"Betsy, you could get up and walk over to his room and ask him there," my older sister scolded.

"Nah, that's too much work."

Mark walked into the living room wearing jeans and a Vanderbilt sweatshirt. "You called, Your Royal Highness?"

"My lovely sister here has a question for you," I replied.

"Ask away," he replied, sitting down on the couch next to me.

"Have you heard from Kevin recently? Do you know why he hasn't called me since before Christmas?"

"Sort of," Mark replied, shifting a bit. "He's emailed me a couple of times since he went back to England. And Emily has called me."

"Yeah, he's emailed me too," Jenna admitted. "But that's all I've gotten."

Mark nodded. "Okay, so apparently Emily has complained to their parents about how much she hates Michigan. And so she won't be coming back with Kevin. Kevin's dad and grandmother are what you might call blue-blooded, classist elitists."

"Gee, Mark, tell us how you really feel about them," I quipped.

He smiled. "Kevin's grandmother doesn't like me. She's like Emily but worse. Anyway, somehow, Grandmother Bingham has explained to Kevin that he can be of more use to his family's name and legacy if he stays in England, so he is not coming back to Michigan for the winter semester. Or at least that's what Emily told me yesterday."

"And what about Jenna?" I asked. "Why is he ignoring her?"

"Grandmother Bingham, according to Emily, reminded him of his duties to the family in that regard as well. And he feels that a long-distance relationship would not be beneficial to either one of them."

"And when was he planning on telling her?"

Mark sighed. "I don't know what Kevin is thinking. I can't explain everything he does. I'm not a mind reader."

"That's unfortunate," I replied.

He smiled; I really like his smile.

"So you don't really know where he is or why he's ignoring me?" Jenna asked.

Mark shook his head; no one looks attractive while shaking their head. "I'm not Mr. Darcy pushing a spineless Charles Bennet around. Kevin makes his own decisions. He doesn't need me to think for him."

"I just want to know why he's ignoring me," my sister sighed.

"I don't know what he's doing or thinking," Mark replied. "I'm really sorry, Jenna, but I don't understand everything that Kevin does."

* * *

Jenna went home and Mark and I stayed on the couch together. I was knitting a pair of "Bella's Mitten's" for Lucy, my sixteen-year-old sister who sadly is obsessed with all things Twilight. He was reading the copy of Jane Eyre that I'd left sitting on the coffee table.

"Do you like this book?" he asked me after about twenty minutes of silence, reading, and knitting.

I shook my head. "I was just reading it to see if I wanted to lead a book club discussion on it. But I still hate it." I looked at him. "Do you like it?"

"I hate the Bronte sisters."

"Really?" I replied enthusiastically.

Mark nodded. "I don't get why people like their books."

"But you're a Jane Austen expert."

"That doesn't mean I have to like the Brontes. It just means that I've read everything they wrote."

I laughed. "Okay, how do you feel about Elizabeth Gaskell?"

"She's refreshing and enjoyable."

"Have you ever seen the BBC miniseries of her books?"

"Are you kidding? I own _Cranford_, _North and South_, and _Wives and Daughters_."

Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. I squealed out loud and hugged him. "You're better than Carlye. She hated Gaskell."

"You hugged me," he said. "You are aware that I'm not a girl, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," I replied. "I was just excited."

"Understandable," he replied. "Why did she hate Gaskell?"

"All the blatant social commentary, it's really not her thing."

He shrugged. "I don't really think it's that blatant."

"You and Carlye are very different people."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Other than your aversion to leaving the toilet seat down, yeah, it's a really good thing."

"I'm a guy."

"You lived with Emily. Didn't she harp on you about it?"

He laughed. "Emily wants to marry me. She'll just drop little passive-aggressive hints about how she'll never marry a man who can't remember to put the toilet seat back down. So I started leaving it up more often just to annoy her."

"Aren't you just the most charming gentleman ever?"

"That's my goal."

I smiled. He really wasn't such a bad person. You just had to know why he was doing what he was doing. He wasn't as complicated as I had previously thought him to be. And he was nicer than I'd expected. He had volunteered to work weekend shifts at the Knit 'n' Lit. This meant we only had to hire two part-time employees to replace Carlye. Lucas and I decided to hire my youngest sister, Lucy, as well as a girl named Hannah who was a college student. Hannah was a knitter and had been a frequent client at the store before being hired. Lucy was hired at my dad's request because he wanted her to learn some sort of responsibility and he knew that she would never learn that from our mother. Nina Bennet is many things but responsible is not one of them.

* * *

I love my mother but she is beyond belief oftentimes. She was convinced that living with Mark meant that I was going to marry him and make her "beautiful grandbabies that I can finally spoil rotten." And she said this in front of Mark. The poor guy just smiled and went back to his bedroom to clean something. Cute he might be and smart he was. And we could be friends and roommates. But that didn't mean we were going to get married any time soon. In her desperate need/desire to see her children married, my mother had forgotten the traditional protocol of dating, then engagement, then marriage and thrown it all out for "Just marry him! You'll make cute babies together." She was desperate and ridiculous and completely and utterly irresponsible.

* * *

"Knitting is stupid," Lucy announced one day about a week later while stocking yarn.

"Remind me of that before your birthday so I don't knit you that sweater you were admiring the other day," I replied.

She made a face. "Why can't you just shop at Michael's like a normal person? Why do you have to own your own store?"

"So I can you give you a job," I replied.

"I don't need a job. I'm only sixteen. I've got Mom and Dad to pay for my clothes and my stuff."

I sighed. "Then you don't have to work here. You can quit. I'm not forcing you to work here."

"But Dad is. He says he won't give me an allowance if I quit. He says I have to learn to be an adult."

"He's right. What are you going to do after high school?" I asked her.

"Get married," she replied without a second thought.

"Who will you marry?" Jamie asked her.

She shrugged. "Tom Logan, he's this really cute guy in my algebra class."

I sighed. Lucy really is my mother's daughter. Sometimes, I think Mom should have just named my youngest sister Lydia Bennet and gone hunting for a George Wickham to spoil her. My youngest two sisters' sole interests in life are clothes, hair, boys, and themselves. And to make matters worse, whatever Lucy does, Cam does the exact same thing. You'd think the older sister would influence the other but not in our family. Cam is a born follower and Lucy is a born leader. Unfortunately, neither one of them has very much sense. I hate letting them be around guys. Cam once asked Mark if she could feel his bicep. He just gave her a funny look and walked away from her. I would have told her to "eat shit and die." But Mark is more of a gentleman than I'll ever be.

* * *

My sister stayed on at the shop. Carlye's emails told me that she was happy in St. Paul. Jenna was miserable without Kevin. Mark had no communication from Kevin. He admitted to me that Kevin could be a bit of a flake and a playboy. "He's done something like this before but I hoped that if I was living with him and supervising him I could stop him. I thought I could overrule Emily's influence in his life. I guess I was wrong."

"What happened to the apartment you guys were living in?"

"Sold it to a colleague of my father's," he replied. "My dad has a friend who has a kid going to the Michigan, so we're subleasing to Julie. It was just a nine-month lease, specially arranged."

"Do you miss living there?" I asked. We were standing at the counter in the shop on a Saturday at the end of January. The shop was pretty quiet as it usually was on Saturdays but Jamie, Mark, and I were all there. Jamie was taking inventory of the yarn while Mark and I took a break from taking inventory of the books.

He shook his head. "I lived with Emily there. That's never a positive memory."

I smiled. "But did you like the apartment?"

"Emily picked it out. It wasn't the kind of place that I would have chosen."

"Why do I hear Green Day in my store?" I heard the bell ring out in the shop and Lucas came into the office. "Today is Yann Thiersen's day around here."

"You weren't here. I can do what I want when you're not here."

He rolled his eyes. "And why are you wearing a flannel shirt? You never wear flannel shirts. Are you stealing Jamie's clothes?"

If Jamie had his way, he would dress like a Canadian lumberjack from the first of November until the thirty-first of March-complete with beard, hat, and boots. Lucas wouldn't let him wear "such a costume" to work.

I was wearing skinny jeans and a flannel shirt I'd bought at Goodwill over a long-sleeved white t-shirt. My hair was in a ponytail and I was wearing gold ballet flats with a matching necklace and hoop earrings. "I'm cute," I told Lucas.

Mark laughed and Lucas scowled. "But are you stealing your boyfriend's clothes?"

" Boyfriend?" Mark repeated.

"I'm not stealing anyone's clothes, least of all an imaginary person," I said.

"I thought you guys went on a date on New Year's Eve. And you hang out together."

"And Mark and I live together. We must be married."

"You dated Jamie for two years and then he ran off to the Peace Corps. Now he's back. Why wouldn't you want to get back together with him?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I do want to get back together and he isn't interested. Did you ever think of that?"

While Lucas contemplated this, I pulled out a pair of socks and started knitting. When Carlye was stressed or annoyed, she smoked. When I was stressed, bored, or annoyed, I knitted socks. On that particular morning, I was knitting dark blue socks for Mark. He was paying me, which was great. I really like knitting for Mark because he's open-minded when it comes to knitting. He had come to me one day while I was knitting purple socks for myself and asked me if hand-knit socks were warmer than store-bought socks. I said yes and he asked me if I could make him a pair or two. He wanted socks he could wear while teaching but beyond that, I could do what I wanted. I had agreed to make him six pairs of socks-two gray, two black, two navy blue. And he was a patient customer. I liked that about him. I still was confused by him. He was reserved and quiet at times but he was also funny and witty. And he was much more patient and less ridiculous than Lucas. He did a good job working in the shop and willingly helped me select books. It was fun working with him. I had more than my share of reservations about working with him when we first brought him on board. I still was unsure of his motives but I've always been suspicious of people. Jamie had once joked while we were in college that I would be suspicious of both the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa if I met them.

"So when are you going to change the music?" Lucas asked.

"When I get bored of Green Day," I replied.

"Today is Yann Thiersen day."

I sighed. Mark rolled his eyes. Mark was learning, as I had long ago learned, that Lucas Ormond was only really happy with his life if everything was neatly and perfectly organized. My life had never resembled the order of Lucas's "messy days' and this made working together problematic at times. With Carlye around, Lucas had always won every argument-even when it was about how to organize the yarn. Carlye believed that family should always support family in business disputes. Mark had no real ties to Lucas, however, and was more likely to support me. While personally Mark was very organized, he understood that sometimes artists function best in disorder and chaos. I guess we've agreed that I'm an artist. Luke has known me since elementary school and still hasn't consented to that idea. Some business partner he is.

* * *

By the end of the day we had the inventory straightened out. Having Mark around the shop on weekends made life so much easier. He was so helpful and willing to do things. Lucas rarely ventured into the yarn side of the store. Mark and Jamie were both willing to spend time there, working with the yarn. They didn't know much about yarn or how to use it. But they were willing to stock yarn and take inventory. I really appreciated them. I still was unsure of where things stood between Jamie and myself. But I had faith that everything would work out in the end. Even if we never got back together, we could still be friends. And maybe that was better. In Jane Austen's day, male-female friendships based on mutual respect were not commonplace. But today they are. This Elizabeth Bennet will be friends with her ex-boyfriends. She will make the best of every situation. Mark Williamson is not Fitzwilliam Darcy. He isn't taciturn although he is reserved. When I met him, I misjudged him. And when he agreed to buy Carlye's shares, I misjudged him. But he really is just a nice guy. He isn't creeping around with secretive motives, trying to manipulate the rest of us. I had suspected him of wanting to take over the shop, get rid of the yarn side of things and the café and then buy out Lucas and me. But I was wrong. Generally I hate being wrong but this was something about which I was more than willing to be wrong about-especially if it meant we could keep the Knit 'n' Lit going indefinitely.

I didn't think that Mark was interested in the Knit 'n' Lit. The first time we met, I overheard him call me a hippie. I don't think we got off on a good foot or a good note or whatever. We didn't like each other when we met. And I was suspicious of him for a long time. And then we started living together. We're both homebodies so we spent a lot of our evening free time sitting around talking and watching TV or movies. And we learned a lot about each other in those conversations. He told me about his family. We also had a chore system. We each did our own laundry. He did the dishes and kept the kitchen clean. I kept the bathroom clean. Living with him was better than living with Carlye in some ways. He wasn't dating someone I disliked. He wasn't wishy-washy. And he could cook. He would cook for me once in a while and it was amazing. He made the world's most perfect marinara sauce-always adding just a touch of vodka to give it a kick.

* * *

Carlye called me the Monday after her brother scolded Mark and me for listening to Green Day on Yann Thiersen day. She was pregnant. "I'm due in September," she told me. "And we're getting married in March. I really want you here for it. Bets, I need you to be my maid of honor. I really need you here for my wedding. You're my best friend. And it's such short notice. I know most people won't be able to come."

"When is it?" I asked.

"March 5," she replied. "It's a Friday night. It's going to be a small wedding, nothing big or exciting. But I want you to be there. And bring Jamie and Lucas. Lucas says he might not come if you come. He doesn't want to leave the shop unmanned. But I want my brother and my best friend there."

"I'll talk to your brother. And we'll see what we can work out. But that's during Mark's spring break and I know he was planning on going to see his family that week. And Lucas, Mark, Jamie, and I can't all leave at the same time."

"Tell Mark to come back early. It's important."

I sighed. "I'll talk to people. But I'm not going to force Mark to do anything he doesn't want to do."

"How is he as a roommate?"

"He's a great roommate," I replied. "I really like living with him."

"So have you started sleeping with him?"

"Only when we both fall asleep on the couch watching a movie," I replied-and quite honestly, I might add.

"Oh, you're already acting like an old married couple."

"Carlye, stop it. I don't think of him like that and he doesn't think of me like that."

"But you two would be cute together. You'd have adorable babies with dark brown hair and dark eyes. Justin and I will have cute kids but they won't be anything special. They'll probably all be on the chess team in high school. But you and Mark, your kids would be the prom queen and the quarterback of the football team."

I sighed. "Carlye, he's never asked me out. As far as I know, the man isn't even interested in me."

"Oh that's a load of horse crap." She might smoke up a storm but she'll never swear, that Carlye Rose Ormond.

"Leave it," I told her. "I'll talk to everyone and see what I can work out. And I promise you that I will be at your wedding." I didn't really see why she wanted Jamie there; they weren't close at all. Maybe she just wanted warm bodies for her wedding. Carlye likes to know that she matters; she tends to feel underappreciated and unwanted by the majority of humanity.

"I can't wait to see you," she said. "And I'll email you about the bridesmaid's dress."

"Sounds great," I replied.

"It's green; I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, it's your day, not mine," I replied. "And I'll see you in five weeks." I paused and then added, "And congratulations on the baby. That really is great."

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I don't own Pride and Prejudice. I do, however, enjoy taking liberties with the plot. And I love all my reviewers. Thank you so much!

* * *

…_I can't imagine what the world of Jane Austen would have been like if Mrs. Jennings or Mrs. Bennet had access to Facebook. They would have been constantly stalking the various characters of their novels. The poor Bennet girls never would have gotten married because Charles Bingley never would have wanted to married a woman whose mother was constantly stalking him and examining every aspect of his personal life online. In my personal life, I know a family where the mother uses Facebook to examine every aspect of her children's lives. She scared a really great guy out of her daughter's life with her constant stalking and prying. Her second oldest daughter steadfastly refuses to ever get a Facebook account because she values her privacy and doesn't want her mother examining every aspect of her life. That's how Mrs. Bennet would parent. _

_Parents need to stop invading their children's lives. My stepmother micromanages every detail of my stepsister's life and watching them drives me insane. Watching them reminds me of Lady Catherine DeBourgh and her daughter, Anne. My stepmother has conditioned her poor daughter to believe that she has poor health and can't hold a job in the real world or function the way normal, healthy people function. My stepsister is in her late twenties and has a graduate degree but she just works as her mother's secretary because her mother has her convinced that's all she can do. That is a Lady Catherine DeBourgh parent. _

_From "Finding Austen Characters in the Real World," a April 30, 2010 post on Mark F. Williamson's blog "Literary World Views"_

**

* * *

Chapter Nine**

* * *

"Something's wrong. You're sitting at work on a Thursday afternoon knitting socks," a voice said from behind me as I sat in the Knit 'n' Lit's only rocking chair. "You never knit socks at work if you can help it."

"Hey, Mark," I said without looking up. I recognized both the voice and the sense of humor. It was a few days after I'd learned of Carlye's wedding and I still hadn't told Mark. Lucas had flat-out refused to go to the wedding, telling his sister that he loved her but he didn't support her and therefore could not and would not attend her wedding. The rest of their family was going however. And all the tension was stressing me out. So I was knitting socks at work. Oh, and Jamie wasn't going to the wedding. It was just me. So I was knitting socks at work.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sitting down next to me.

"You shouldn't complain about me knitting socks at work. They're for you."

Mark sighed. "But you're acting like you're stressed, Betsy. What's up?"

"Can we talk about this at home? It's not really public knowledge yet."

"Sure, but you actually have to talk. You can't just tell me we'll talk about it later and then not do it."

I smiled. "I promise I'll tell you at home."

"When will you be home tonight?"

"Nine-thirty," I replied. "It's a Thursday."

"Do you want me to pick you up?" Mark had taken to driving me to and from work when I would be coming or going in the dark. There wasn't much space for parking near the shop, so I usually just walked from the apartment. It was about a thirty minute walk but Mark didn't like me making it in the dark. I understood that. And I appreciated the ride when it was cold and dark. Early February guaranteed me cold and dark. But Mark's Ford Escape (Hybrid, of course) parked outside of the Knit 'n' Lit at 9:29 guaranteed me a warm five-minute drive home. And then there was usually dinner waiting for me when we got inside.

"I'm working with Jamie," I replied.

"I'll pick you up at nine-thirty," he said.

I smiled. "Thanks. Are you sticking around today?"

He shook his head. "No, I have a department meeting at five and then I'm having dinner with a couple of professors. Then I'll pick you up around nine-thirty. And then we can watch _Bones_ and _The Office _off the TiVo."

"Does that mean that I won't have a homemade dinner waiting for me when I get home?"

"Sorry," he replied. "But it looks like you're going to have to rough it for one week. But you're a big girl, Betsy. And I think you'll make it."

I pouted for about half a minute but then we both laughed. "I'll live. I'll just make macaroni and cheese."

"And I'll eat half the pot," he replied with a smile. Then he glanced at his watch. "I should get going. But I'll see you at nine-thirty."

"Enjoy your meeting," I replied.

He stuck out his tongue and walked out.

* * *

"Well, aren't you two just the old married couple?" Jamie teased when I went over to the counter a few minutes later.

I laughed. "I prefer to think of us as Abbott and Costello."

"Nah, you're definitely Lucy and Dezi."

"What are you trying to say about me, Malloy?"

He laughed. "Nothing big, I'm just saying that you're crazy."

"And Mark is Cuban?"

"What are you saying about Mark Cuban?" Lucas said walking out of the office. He was wearing his coat and carrying his backpack, which meant that he was heading home.

"Absolutely nothing," Jamie replied. "I'm just comparing Betsy and Mark to Lucy and Dezi while she's comparing them to Abbott and Costello."

Luke shook his head. "Nah, I see them more as Laurel and Hardy."

Jamie looked at me. "I'm not getting that vibe at all. Maybe they're the Odd Couple."

"Felix and what's his face?"

Jamie nodded. "Yeah, them; Betsy, you guys are definitely Felix Unger and What's-His-Face from _The Odd Couple_."

"You know what? I was just thinking."

"Sounds painful," Luke quipped.

I rolled my eyes. "So the Harry Potter books would have been so much funnier if they'd called Lord Voldemort 'What's-His-Face' instead of 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named' or 'You Know Who.'"

"You should tell J.K. Rowling," Luke replied. "But right now, I'm going to bust this pop stand and go out on a date."

"With whom, may I ask?" I asked.

"Maeve Pierson, you've never met her."

"No, but I want to," I replied.

"I'll consider the possibility." And then he left, with a smile.

* * *

At nine-thirty, Jamie and I locked the front door of the shop and said "good night" to each other. Then he went around to the back of the building to go to the upstairs apartment. I walked to the parking lot and Mark's waiting Escape. "Watch your feet," he said as I climbed into the car.

I looked and saw a bag from the Macaroni Grill sitting there. "Is that for me?" I asked.

"It's a distinct possibility. Now buckle your seatbelt."

"Thank you, Magic Eight Ball."

He smiled and began driving home.

* * *

Home was an apartment, as I've said, but I don't think I've described our apartment before now. We lived in a duplex on the top floor. The bottom floor was occupied by a young family; the father was working on his PhD in philosophy and his wife was raising their two young children. Our apartment was reached by an external staircase. Upon entering, you were in the kitchen. We had a large kitchen with a table that Carlye and I had bought when we were in college. Mark put the bag from the Macaroni Grill there and hung up his coat on one of the hooks by the door. Then, he turned right and went into the living room, a small but cozy room with very comfortable furniture. From there, he went into his own bedroom, which I jokingly called "The Man Cave."

I turned left and went into my bedroom. If I had gone straight, I would have been in our bathroom. Our bathroom was spectacular. It was spacious and surprisingly pretty. And Mark let me burn candles so that it always smelled like cinnamon in the bathroom. I put down my purse and my bag filled with my knitting before changing into my pajamas. Then, I grabbed my knitting and went back into the living room where Mark was now setting up the TiVo. "I put your dinner in the microwave. It should be ready any second now."

"Thanks," I said. "So what did you get me?"

"Chicken marsala," he replied. "I figured you could eat some tonight and take the rest to work with you tomorrow."

I grinned. "You're awesome."

"I try. Now will you please tell me why you're stressed?"

I sighed. "It's complicated."

"I figured that much when you wouldn't talk to me at work."

After getting my food and a glass of wine from the kitchen, I told him. "Carlye's pregnant and she's getting married."

"To the guy your mom wanted you to marry?" he asked. I'd told him about Justin.

I nodded. "And Lucas is angry and has promised her that he won't come to the wedding."

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him. "I just don't get it. Why is she doing this? She started dating him four months ago. Now she's pregnant and they're getting married. How does this make sense? Why do people do stupid things?"

He shook his head and turned off the TV. I was eating and talking and I probably looked like a mess. I didn't care. Mark knew what I was and I had no interest in impressing him. This man wasn't about to fall head over heels in love with me and propose marriage to me.

I looked over at our coffee-table, which was currently playing host to my glass of white zinfandel, Mark's glass of water, a purple candle, Mark's copy of War and Peace, my copy of Les Miserables, Mark's copy of A Tale of Two Cities that he's using for an article that he's writing, and a purple box of Kleenex. It must say something about us that we have three of the most famous books of the nineteenth century just sitting around our apartment.

Mark pulled a Kleenex out of the box and handed it to me. "Here," he said with a smile. "I can't answer your questions but I can give you booze and chocolate and tissues."

I blew my nose and smiled. "I just don't understand Carlye. She's been my best friend other than Jenna for ages and now I don't know what she's thinking at all. Why is she so gung-ho about getting married and having a baby with some guy she just started dating four months ago? Isn't that a little fast? Doesn't that scream desperate?" I shook my head. "We used to tell each other everything. And then we grew up."

"I don't think that's what happened."

"Nope, she outgrew me."

Mark was trying hard not to smile. "You, dear girl, do not need that wine," he said, before basically chugging my glass of wine. He swallowed and then continued. "You are far too emotional for alcohol. What you need is a nice cup of tea."

"Thanks, Grandma," I said.

The smile won out. "Keep venting. I'm just going to put the water on to boil."

I sighed. "I just miss high school when she used to tell me everything. And I don't know why she left the shop. And I don't know how I'm going to get to the wedding. I can't afford to buy a new dress and buy a plane ticket to St. Paul and rent a hotel room. I just have no freaking clue what I'm going to do."

"I could drive you," he replied.

"What?"

"The wedding is March 5, yes?"

I nodded.

"Okay, so here's the deal. February 27, I'm driving to Minnesota to see Jules, my mom, and my mom's family. I'll be there until March 7. You can sit in the passenger seat of the Escape, have complete control of the radio, and talk to me for thirteen or fourteen hours. Then, you can crash in my mom's guest room for a week and then go to the wedding on Friday night. And then we can rinse and repeat on the way home."

"Will you be my date to the wedding?" I asked. "Pretty please?"

He laughed. "If you want me do, then I'd be honored."

"Okay, you'll have to dress sharp."

"I think I have a suit and a tie hanging around here someplace."

"Thanks," I said following him into the kitchen. "You really don't have to do this."

"Repeat that again after you've spent a week in the same house as my mom, Jules, Scarlett, Iris, and Violet. Sebastian and Roger will leave you alone but the girls are going to love you and want you to marry me."

"I should be fine. I just need to get through this wedding and hope to God that she doesn't want me to be the baby's godmother."

"Oh come on! Being a godparent is fun."

"You're a godparent?"

"To my friend Rich's son," he replied.

I leaned against the doorframe. "You've never told me about this."

"Rich and Angie got married about three years ago and Matthew was born in July. And he is the world's cutest godson."

"I bet," I replied. "So do you see him very much?"

"Every month or so, they live in Grand Rapids."

"Are you serious? That's really great for you. Your godson is born in July in Grand Rapids and then you get a job in Ann Arbor. That's really convenient."

He laughed. "I did apply to four universities in Michigan hoping to be near Rich and Angie. And if I was in Ann Arbor, I could live with Kevin and Emily, which seemed like a great idea at the time. Plus, I didn't have anything really keeping me at Vanderbilt."

"So are you going to stay here after this year?"

"At U of M?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Yeah, I like the school. Your dad is a great department head and I love the students here. They're genuinely interested in the material. I really love being here. And I have a great roommate."

"So do you want to stay here for good, like beyond subleasing from Carlye?"

"The lease isn't up for renewal until July but I guess so. I really like the apartment and you're a better roommate than Kevin or Emily or a random guy named Merrimack from the Philippines."

"Merrimack from the Philippines?" I asked.

"My roommate last year in Nashville," he replied as he gave me a mug of peppermint tea. "Merrimack is really great but he didn't make me socks."

I laughed. "Is this your way of making me feel better about the fact that Carlye is getting married after only dating Justin for like four months?"

"No," he replied. "This is more about the fact that you don't want to be their baby's godmother because you hate Justin."

* * *

"So, I have a question for you," Lucas asked me the following Monday. We were working together.

"What's up?"

"Is anything going on with you and Jamie?"

"We went on a couple of dates at the beginning of January but he hasn't said anything about dates or anything like that in a couple of weeks."

"Weird," he said. "I guess I thought you guys had something good going there."

"Maybe we're not supposed to be together. Maybe we grew apart. Maybe he's not comfortable with my current roommate."

"Possibly," Lucas replied, semi-cryptically. "Do you think that you two have a future?"

"I like him. He is one of my best friends-regardless of our relationship. But I don't know if we could get married and make it work until death do us part. I'm not sure that's what either of us wants of the other anymore. Why are you asking me anyway?"

He shrugged. "He's my roommate. You're my business partner and one of my oldest friends. I'm just curious. I want what's best for both of you."

"Got it," I replied. I paused for a moment and then surged ahead. "Luke, do you want what's best for your sister?"

"Carlye?" he asked. "Yeah, that's why I don't want her to marry Justin and have a kid with him."

"I don't want her to do that either but I still love her-no matter what she does. And I want her to be happy."

"But can he really make her happy?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. She certainly seems to think so. And since we love her, shouldn't we support her in her decision to get married and do what she thinks will make her happy?"

"I want to be happy but that doesn't mean that I'm going to her wedding. I don't like Justin and I don't trust him with my sister. Ergo, I am not going to their wedding. I'm not going to stand there and smile while I watch my sister throw her life away. You can do what you want. I'm not getting involved in that situation."

"You're her brother," I said, trying to remain calm.

"Did Carlye put you up to this?"

I shook my head. "I just wanted to talk to you. That's all. And I'll leave it alone now. I'll accept the fact that you aren't comfortable and don't want to go to the wedding."

"Thank you."

* * *

Two days after that exchange, Jamie walked into the shop during the afternoon shift. I was teaching an after-school knitting class for children and Mercy was working behind the counter. After my class ended, I went over to Jamie who was perusing the books. "What brings you in on your day off?" I asked him.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Why did Lucas ask me if we were going to get back together?"

I shook my head. "He asked me about it the other day too."

"Oh," Jamie said. "I thought maybe you put him up to it."

"Nope, I'm just as clueless as you are."

"Do you think he wants us to get back together?"

I shrugged. "Do you want us to get back together?"

"I kind of do," he replied. "But only if you're interested; if you're not, I'm totally willing to back off and vanish."

As he looked at me, expecting an answer, Mark walked into the shop. And with him came a blast of cold air and confusion.

* * *

A/N: Please review! And I know that the blog post from Mark's blog doesn't make a lot of sense with this chapter. But it's there. And I promise that it will make more sense eventually.


	10. Chapter 10

A/ N: I don't own what you recognize. However, I do love my reviewers. You guys are simply the best.

* * *

**Chapter Ten **

_

* * *

In __Pride and Prejudice__, Elizabeth states that she knows not when exactly she fell for Mr. Darcy. She says that it came on so slowly that she didn't really know what was happening. And Darcy expresses similar thoughts. I understand that feeling wholeheartedly. When I really and truly fell in love for the first time, I didn't know when I did it. Like Emma and Knightley, we went from friendship to love without every knowing when we crossed the line. One day, she was just my friend and business partner. The next, she was the only woman I could ever marry. _

_- "In the Middle before I Knew I was there," a February 14, 2013 post on Mark F. Williamson's blog "Literary World Views"_

* * *

"Betsy, I need to talk to you in the office," Mark announced as soon as he walked into the shop.

"Do you need me right now?" I asked, glancing at Jamie who was still waiting for an answer.

He nodded. "It's kind of an emergency."

"I'll be back," I told Jamie before following Mark into the office.

* * *

He took something out of his coat pocket before taking it off and hanging it up. I sat down in the chair behind the desk and looked at him. He ran his hand over his head and sighed. I took a tissue from the box on the desk and blew my nose as Mark began pacing around the small space.

"Mark," I said slowly. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"Kevin," he replied.

"Kevin Bingham?" I asked.

He nodded.

This was like talking to a five-year-old but I'd do it. I'd never seen Mark this agitated. "What did Kevin do, Mark?"

"He's coming back to Ann Arbor."

"He's doing what?"

"He's coming back to Ann Arbor to win back Jenna or something like that. He's realized that he made a mistake and his family is stupid and he wants her back. And he's coming back the week that you and I are going to Minnesota. And he wants to stay with us. But we won't be here. So I guess he would want to just stay in our apartment but I'm not sure I want to see him. And I'm confused. And I don't like this."

I walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders, a difficult task considering the fact that he is about eight inches taller than me. "Mark, look at me."

"I don't like it, Betsy. He treated Jenna horribly. He threw her away and I don't like that. I don't want him staying in our apartment all alone and trying to woo your poor sister."

"You can say no," I told him, rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him.

He sighed and I felt him beginning to relax. "Bets, you and I both know that if I say no he'll just get a room in a hotel. And I don't like that either. I don't want him to go all Don Juan on her."

"I know," I said. "Now, please sit down and we'll discuss this rationally. I think we can make this work. You know Kevin and I know Jenna."

"I'm not sure I do know Kevin."

I smiled. "Sit, Mark."

"Woof," he said as he sat on the loveseat opposite the desk and we both laughed. I sat down next to him and squeezed his hands.

"Talk to Kevin and be honest with him. I don't think he's going to go all Don Juan on her. He's much more docile, lamblike than he is fox-like."

He smiled and squeezed my hand. Mark was the reason I couldn't agree to Jamie's idea that we perhaps start dating again. There was something there. We were closer to being Betsy-and-Mark than we were to being Betsy Bennet and Mark Williamson. And I wasn't sure how that had happened. But we'd grown close in the past month or so. I knew how to calm him down and I didn't even know that about Lucas.

"I just don't want him to screw everything up again. And I don't want him around Jenna when I can't supervise him and make sure that he isn't being Casanova."

"What is with you and these literary allusions today?"

"I was talking to Dr. Wright in my office before I came over here. She's the one who teaches the class about cross-cultural literary movements and Don Juan. I think I've told you about her."

"Is she the feminist who always wears skirts?" I asked. "I took a couple of classes from her when I was in college."

He nodded. "She was talking about a class she wants to teach about Casanova and Don Juan next fall."

"And now you're referring to someone who was once your best friend as Don Juan and Casanova."

That elicited a shrug and a smile. "I just don't want him near Jenna. I don't' want him to hurt her again. I like your sister; she's a great person. And you're my roommate and she's your sister. If he screws her over again, I'm screwed over."

"You could tell him that he can't come that week that we're out of town but he can come the next week when we are in town. Then, you can supervise him to your heart's delight."

"But I don't want him to come at all."

"He's an adult, Mark. If he wants to come, he's going to come. If you want to be involved, you have to let him come but stipulate the terms on which he can come."

"You're brilliant."

"You may kiss my ring."

"You're not wearing a ring."

I laughed. "Are you doing better now?"

"Yes but I'll be even better if you watch a movie with me when we get home tonight."

"I get off at six."

He smiled. "I'll make you dinner if you watch _X-Men_ with me."

"Adrenaline junkie," I teased.

"Hey, you'll get to see Hugh Jackman."

"I can live with that."

He kissed my cheek. "You're a rock star, Bets. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Suffer," I replied before giving him a quick hug.

Mark laughed. "Go back to Jamie. I think I interrupted something important."

"I'll tell you about it later."

* * *

"What was that about?" Jamie asked when I came back into the bookstore.

"Kevin problems," I replied.

"I thought he dropped off the face of the earth."

"Trust me. We all thought he did."

"No such luck?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No but I think Mark can take care of things. He's a smart one."

"We're not getting back together," Jamie said flatly-a statement, not a question. "You're single but you're not available."

"That's not the reason I was going to give you but I don't want to get back together. Four months ago, I would have willingly have done it but not now. I don't think we're supposed to be together forever. College was good."

"But not anymore," he finished my sentence. "I know what you mean. But let's be good friends."

"And I can be your boss too!"

Jamie laughed. "You will always be power hungry."

I smiled. "I like my job. I get to knit."

* * *

That night, Mark picked me up at six and drove me home. Lucas has taken to calling Mark my husband whenever Mark picks me up from work. I would like to note that Lucas has never been so kind as to offer to drive me home from work when it's dark or snowing or raining. Lucas would like to note that he lives above the shop. I know what he's saying but I still really appreciate Mark's rides. Also, the shop is on Mark's way home from work. But still, it was his idea that he pick me up from work and I enjoy his company.

And there he was at six o'clock. "Betsy, your darling husband is here for you," Lucas called.

"Just never call him that in front of my mother," I replied as I got my things together.

Mark laughed. "Even if I married you, I'm not sure I'd admit so much in front of your mother. She's a little too desperate to see her darling daughters married."

I sighed. "Mark, she's not that bad."

"But I'm not even your boyfriend. I'm just your platonic friend, business partner, and roommate."

I smiled. "And you're great at all of those. Now let's go home. I'm making dinner and it's going to be fabulous."

* * *

When we got home, I set my purse on the table and hung up my coat. Immediately, my purse fell over and my knitting and a book spilled out. "So you're finally reading The Time Traveler's Wife?" Mark asked, picking up said book.

I laughed. "No, I've read it before. But Luke mentioned it as a possible book club read, so I'm rereading it."

"I've never read it."

"You should join the book club."

He laughed. "In case you've forgotten, I don't knit."

"I'll teach you."

"Maybe over the summer," he replied. "I'm busy with work right now." He picked up the tea kettle from the stove. "I'm going to make myself a cup. You want one too?"

I nodded. "Yeah, some peppermint would be great."

"You're on."

We had this rhythm about evenings. One of us cooked. One made tea. We chatted. It felt very homey. Sometimes, I want to just throw in "honey" or "sweetie" or kiss him on the cheek. It's just all very homelike. But it's not a marriage or a relationship. It's just two people living together for convenience's sake.

Mark put the kettle on to boil before going to change out of his work clothes. He wore dress pants, dress shirts, and ties to work. And then he came home and changed into jeans and sweatshirts. My work clothes easily transitioned to life at home. But I'm my own boss and Lucas and Mark aren't about to criticize the way I dress.

* * *

I worked in the evenings on Thursday and Friday, so Mark and I invited Jenna over for dinner on Saturday. He wanted to talk to her about Kevin in person. "I don't like the idea of just calling someone up and saying 'Hey, your asshole ex-boyfriend wants to reconcile with you,'" he told me on Saturday morning while we were both working.

I laughed. "Don't swear in front of Jenna. She teaches first grade and likes her life to be as clean as a little kid thinks a Disney movie is."

He smiled and handed me the mug of tea he'd been making for me. I took a sip and smiled.

"Okay, chickens, stop flirting and start working. I've got boxes of yarn and I have no clue what to do with them," Lucas said, walking out of the storage room.

"You organize them by color," Mark told him. "It's not that hard."

"I'm colorblind."

I snorted. "That's a lie. You're just lazy."

He stuck his tongue out at me and I shook my head.

"I'm always amazed at the maturity of my employers," Jamie said as he came out of the storage room carrying boxes in his arms.

As he walked towards the storage room himself, Mark said, "I think there's only one that you really need to worry about."

"Yeah but he's the one who signs the paychecks," Jamie replied.

"I could take that job over from him," I told him.

"His Majesty would be offended," Jamie said. "You know as well as I do that Lucas likes being in control of things."

I sighed, thinking of just how well I knew that. I'd known Lucas since childhood and it had always been clear to me that he felt a need for power and control. His reaction to Carlye's pregnancy and wedding were an example of this. He likes to get his way. Psychologically speaking, this is a typical marker of an oldest child and Luke isn't the oldest. Luke is different. I think that all of the Ormond kids are different. Carlye needs to be wanted. Luke needs to be in control. Lena needs to escape. The other kids have other problems.

I'm not saying that my family is perfect. Mae has gotten lost in the shuffle since she was a little kid, but unfortunately that's very typical of introverts and middle children. Jenna and I were louder than she was. Lucy needs attention all the time, but she's the youngest child and a spoiled brat. Cam lives in the shadow of others and wants to be accepted. Jenna wants to make people happy and keep things perfect. Me? I want to live my own life and be my own person. Would we be like this if my mom were less interested in being involved in our lives? I don't know. I don't really care. But I know that my mom complicates all of our lives. That's what parents do. They complicate their children's lives. Like my mom, she calls me three times a week to ask me when I'm going to start dating Mark. She's always telling Jenna to get married and give her grandchildren. She tells Mae to get over how become more normal so she can get a husband. She's grooming Cam and Lucy to marry wealthy men. But they're completely obnoxious and nobody rich would ever want to marry them-at least no one who is a man of sense. After all, I've always tried to be woman of sense because Jeremy Northam saying "Men of sense, whatever you may think Emma, do not want silly wives" has kind of stuck with me.

* * *

So my sister came over. Mark made a really great pork roast with potatoes. He's a great cook. And my sister is patient, especially with Mark. She knows that he still has some vague contact with Kevin and she wants this information he has. My sister formed a serious connection with Kevin, something of which Mark is not entirely convinced. But he's not thrilled with Kevin lately, so he's willing to be more open to my sister and try to help her. He doesn't want to be Mr. Darcy just because Emily Bingham is acting like Caroline Bingley.

Jenna needed a relaxing night-especially if Mark was going to tell her about Kevin's impending visit. "It's snowing, again," my sister announced when we let her in.

I laughed. "It's Michigan, Jen. What were you expecting?"

"I don't know but I'm sick of this. I think I'll move to Florida."

"You'll be farther away from Mom if you do that."

She rolled her eyes. "Mark, tell my sister that some of us are more willing to be patient with my mother than others are."

"I've given up trying to convince Betsy of anything. We all know she's as stubborn as a mule."

"Someone please remind me why I hang out with you two again."

"Well, you're stuck living with me," Mark said.

"And you're related to me," was Jenna's reply.

I sighed. "Let's just eat, drink, and be merry."

"So how is first grade these days?" Mark asked Jenna after we sat down to dinner.

Jenna grinned. "They're great. They're really started to learn to understand reading and they've been reading out loud to me all week. It's so much fun. Six-years-old is such a fun age."

"What do they like to read?"

"Dr. Seuss," she replied. "And they like the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie books."

"When are you going to read Jane Austen to them?"

Jenna and I both laughed. I had told him about how our mother had started reading Pride and Prejudice to us when we were in kindergarten.

"I believe in waiting until third grade for that one," my sister said after she was done laughing. "I think they should have some concept of reason before introducing them to the classics."

"Have you ever told your mother about this theory?"

Jenna shook her head. "I wouldn't dare. It would break her heart."

Mark smiled. "You are so kind to your mother."

"And Betsy isn't."

"Is today International Pick on Elizabeth Bennet Day?"

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, and since you don't have a Facebook account, you don't know about it."

"Oh, it was a Facebook event?"

They both laughed. Mark and I have created a Facebook page for the Knit 'n' Lit but that's the closest I've come to the damn thing. I hate it and I refuse to venture on to it unless I have to. But lately, I've begun to feel left out because people broadcast their entire lives to Facebook and let the real world know about things later. It was, in fact, via Facebook that my sister had seen that Kevin was planning on coming to Ann Arbor again. He'd made a comment on the wall of a mutual friend or something like that. Jenna wanted to know what was going on. And after fifteen or twenty minutes of polite chatter, she asked, "So what's the deal with Kevin? Is he really coming back over here?"

Mark took a deep breath and ran his hand over his recently shaven head. He'd shaved his head and I'd cut my hair to my shoulders the previous weekend; whatever Lucas might say, the timing was purely coincidental. "Jenna, first of all, let me tell you that Kevin can be an asshole at times. He looks all nice and cute and sweet. That's just because he's a baby-faced boy who can't grow a beard to save his soul."

I laughed and Jenna shook her head. "But that doesn't answer my question. Is he coming or isn't he?"

"He is," Mark said flatly. "He wanted to come the first week of March and stay with us but we won't be here."

"That's when you're going to Minnesota, right?"

I nodded. "We don't want him staying here when we're not here."

"To supervise him," Mark added. "So we told him that he could come the next week and he agreed to that. He's staying in my room and I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Mark is trying to protect you, Jen."

My sister smiled. "But why is he coming? He wrote on Jeff's wall something about unfinished business and tying up loose ends."

Mark pressed his lips together and shrugged. "I'm really not sure what he's up to. He won't tell me. He just emailed me and asked if he could stay with us. I said the week he wanted wouldn't work for us but he could come the next week if he wanted. I figured he'd just say no and find somewhere else to stay while he was here. Instead, he agreed to my plan. That surprised me. It means he's not working right now."

"So what is he doing?" Jenna asked, taking a sip of beer.

He cracked all the fingers on his left hand, starting with the middle finger. I'd learned over the past month that was a sign of nervousness or uneasiness for Mark. "I have a few ideas but nothing really. I know he's not doing anything academic. Friends in England tell they haven't seen him or heard from him much. He's apparently camped out at the family estate in northern England."

"He could still be doing research up there," Jenna suggested.

"He could," Mark replied in a tone that said that was the last thing he suspected Kevin to be doing.

My sister sighed. "You think he's doing something else."

"Or I think he's doing nothing. Or I think his family is manipulating him."

"You're vague," my sister said with a sigh.

"Sorry," Mark said. "I don't like encouraging gossip or suspicion but I also don't want you to get your hopes up. I really don't have much faith in Kevin turning out to be the good guy here."

"He's not Mr. Knightley?" I asked my roommate.

He smiled. "No, but that doesn't mean that he's automatically Casanova either."

"You two confuse me sometimes," my sister said, taking another sip of her beer. "I don't get all your literary allusions."

I smiled. "Sorry, that's what happens when we own a bookstore and between our personal collections have enough books to stock another bookstore."

"We read too much, Jenna," Mark said. "But we don't think Kevin is all bad. We just don't know what he's up to and we think you should be cautious around him if he does try to contact you."

She nodded. "But he is coming?"

"Right after we get back from Minnesota," he told her. "Now you two go pick out a movie and I'll clean up the kitchen."

"But you cooked," I protested.

"And your sister is our guest. Now scram. And don't make me watch another chick flick."

* * *

Once Jenna and I were alone in the living room and Mark was loudly singing along to the Beatles, she looked at me. "Okay, when exactly did you two become 'we' and 'us'?"

"About ten minutes after we became roommates, business partners, and conspirators in a trip to Minnesota," I replied. "We-I mean, Mark and I-Mark and I spend a lot of time together. It just happened."

"Are you two together?"

I gasped. "Why does everyone think that?"

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Would he be up for watching _The Count of Monte Cristo_ or does he think it's a chick flick?"

"It's definitely not on his list of chick flicks," I told her. "That's his movie. I'm sure he'd be up for watching it."

She grinned. "Good, I really want to watch this movie."

"Is someone in a Jim Caviezel mood?" I teased.

Jenna bit her lip and grinned. "He's so pretty, Betsy."

* * *

A/N: Please review! I know; I take twenty-five years to update. But it's only because I'm in the middle of writing my senior thesis and ninety other final projects for school. Theoretically speaking, my updating should become more frequent in May.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I don't own the obvious/recognizable. I love my reviewers. You guys are awesome. Thank you so much.

_

* * *

Family affects our motivations and our actions. Darcy talks in __Pride and Prejudice__ about how he was given good principles but left to follow them in pride and conceit. As a child, I was taught that the family was the center of life. Then my parents divorced and my definition of family changed. My definition of family changed again as my parents each remarried and I acquired stepsisters and a half-brother. I'm still the oldest child on both sides. But I have different responsibilities now than I did as a young child with married parents and one younger sister. _

_But I still have a family. You don't get to choose your family members. And you don't always get along with them. I'm pretty sure that Elizabeth Bennet wanted to sell Lydia and Kitty at times. I can't imagine Elinor Dashwood was always thrilled to be related to Marianne. I'm pretty sure that Anne Eliot would have paid to have Elizabeth and Sir Walter eliminated from her life. But Elinor always loved Marianne. And they were good friends. There were even positive aspects of family in the Bennet family. Elizabeth and Jane had each other. Fitzwilliam Darcy had a pretty good family with Georgia and Colonel Fitzwilliam's family…although Lady Catherine made everyone's life pretty difficult at times. But everyone has those relatives that you only see once a year at Christmas because no one can stand them unless they feel like there is some sort of celestially appointed edict requiring that they see Aunt Myrtle who always talks about her bladder infections or Aunt Catherine who always talks about how talented and brilliant she is._

_-Foreword to a 2013 edition of __Pride and Prejudice__ edited by Mark F. Williamson_

* * *

To be clear, six o'clock in the morning and I are not friends. We have never been friends. We have reached a sort of truce agreement only through the mediation of caffeine. When Mark suggested that we leave for Minnesota at six o'clock in the morning-on a Saturday morning-I threw War and Peace at him. It's a paperback and he dodged it. So I settled for sticking my tongue out at him, but this only made him laugh.

So on Saturday, February 27, I woke up at five-thirty, showered quickly, finished packing, grabbed the cup of coffee that Mark made me and the bagel he'd prepared for me, and followed him out to the car. I gave him my suitcase and the dress bag that held my bridesmaid dress, which he put in the back of the car, and then climbed into the front seat with my purse and my pillow. I was asleep again before we made it to the freeway.

* * *

When I woke up again, we were driving past the Sprinkle Road exit, which meant that we were near Kalamazoo. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was just after eight o'clock. Mark was listening to the _Amelie _soundtrack. "Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said when I yawned and stretched.

"Did you miss me?" I asked.

He laughed. "I knew you weren't a morning person but I didn't realize that even if I gave you coffee, you'd still go back to sleep."

"Caffeine takes like four to six hours to hit the bloodstream."

He shook his head. "You are ridiculous. But I hope you had a nice nap, Miss Ridiculous."

I smiled. "Yeah, I feel pretty great."

"Good, you're taking over the wheel when we cross over into Indiana."

"Did I mention that I never actually drank the coffee?" I said a few minutes later. "I have the thermos. I fell asleep before I could get around to drinking it."

He smiled. "It's okay. Drink it now. You're still driving once we cross over into Indiana. But for now, you're going to tell me stories."

"I don't know any stories."

He shook his head. Rolling his eyes, his usual option for mocking me, was out of the question due to the sunglasses covering his eyes. "You grew up with four sisters."

"We had a very boring childhood."

"You knew Lucas as a child."

"You know _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_? That was inspired by my desire to wipe Lucas from my memory."

"Betsy, you're ridiculous. Don't you know any stories? Didn't you read any books in college or anything?

"Nope, I read Spark Notes."

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're beyond belief."

"That's what my daddy always tells me."

"I would believe that."

"Of course you would. You're Mark Williamson; you'll believe anything."

"Who told you that?"

I laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"There's a contradiction involved in your statements but I don't want to get too analytical before noon."

I laughed. "So do you want to hear the story about the time that Obi-Wan Kenobi saved Princess Leia because he was her only hope?"

"No," he said. "I want to hear the one about the three piggies and the wolf."

A few weeks earlier, we'd been watching bloopers from _The Tudors_ and had heard that line and now he kept saying it to me. Mark found it hilarious. It wasn't my favorite blooper but Mark didn't want to hear about how gorgeous I found Jeremy Northam or Henry Cavill. He also didn't appreciate being told that he looked like Cavill.

"I don't like that story. I could tell you that one about the girl who loses her shoe."

"Fine, tell me the story about Cinder's Ella."

* * *

By the time we got to Mark's parents' house, it was five o'clock in the evening their time, six in our time zone. We'd spent twelve hours on the road and I was exhausted. I didn't want to be in the car anymore either. And I was pretty sure that Mark was sick of me. I'd spent the past hour telling him dumb stories about my childhood. When he pulled into the driveway, he looked at me. "Be prepared," he said. "You're about to meet my mom, my stepfather, and all of my siblings except my dad's stepdaughter. It will be chaotic."

I smiled. "Mark, I grew up with my mother. I'm used to chaos."

"You've never met my sisters. Just bring your purse in. Robert and I will bring them in for you later. You don't want to meet them with your hands full."

I nodded and grabbed my coat and purse. When we got to the front door, Mark opened it. "After you," he said.

I went in and he followed me, yelling "Hello, I'm home!" as he walked in.

Immediately, a flying blur jumped onto him and Mark laughed. "Sebastian, buddy, it's good to see you. How are you?"

"I'm good. Who's that?" the little boy asked, pointing at me.

"Sebastian, this is my friend, Betsy. Betsy, this is my younger brother, Sebastian."

"Nice to meet you," I said.

Sebastian was, from what Mark had told me, eight years old and very energetic. He was Mark's mom's only child from her second marriage. What Mark hadn't told me was how much Sebastian looked like Mark. Tall and gangly with unruly dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes, that was both of them.

"Nice to meet you too," he said. "Mommy's been cooking up a storm waiting for you guys to get here. And everyone is home."

Mark put Sebastian down and took off his coat. I took mine off; Mark took it and my purse and set them on the stairs. "Come on," he said.

I followed him into the kitchen where a tall woman with graying brown hair was stirring something at the stove. "Mark!" she said before hugging him. "Oh, it's good to see you, sweetheart. How are you? Oh and you must be Betsy. It's lovely to meet you, dear. How was your trip?"

"Long," I said. "But it was good."

"Wisconsin is still as boring as ever, Mom," Mark said. "But it's good to be here."

"Marky is home!" someone yelled from another room.

"He's very popular with his sisters," his mother said to me. "It's nice to have you here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Camden," I said.

"Please call me Natalie. I know it's confusing with Mark being a Williamson and me not being one. And Natalie is easier than trying to figure it all out." Natalie did not look like what I expected Mark's mother to look like. She was very elegantly built but she was wearing blue jeans and a white turtleneck-very classic but casual. She also had the blue-gray eyes that Sebastian and Mark shared.

"Scarlett, calm down. I'll introduce you to her," Mark was saying behind us.

I turned around to see a short brunette wearing jeans and a University of Minnesota sweatshirt bouncing up and down next to Mark. "Betsy, this Scarlett," he said. "Scarlett, meet Betsy."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you too," she said. "It's so cool to finally meet you. I've heard about you and how you knit."

"Scarlett wants to learn to knit," Mark told me. "And she's hoping you can teach her since Mom doesn't have a whole lot of time to teach her."

"You knit?" I asked Natalie.

She nodded. "But I don't get to do it as much as I would like. Having three kids and owning my own business doesn't exactly leave me much time to just sit and knit."

"You and your husband own a bookstore, don't you?" I asked, remembering what Mark had told me.

She nodded. "Pemberley's Shades, Robert and his first wife, Isabel, opened it together and then I got involved when I married Robert. Having our own store, we got really excited when we heard that Mark was buying into your shop."

I smiled. "He's a great addition to the shop. I love having someone else's opinion on books."

"Mark, you shaved your head! When did this happen?"

"About a month ago, Iris," he replied as a taller brunette who looked a great deal like Scarlett walked into the room.

"But why did you do it? We like your hair."

"By we, she means that she likes your hair. I like fuzzing your bald head," another voice said as a young woman who bore a great deal of resemblance of Mark walked into the room and proceeded to rub her hand over his head, which he was keeping almost bald.

Natalie turned to me. "The oldest one, the one in the red sweater, is my daughter Juliana. The other one, in the pink sweater, is Iris. And Violet is around here somewhere."

"Bedroom, doing geometry," Iris said walking over to Natalie and me. "So you're Betsy."

I nodded. "That's what I tell myself at any rate."

She smiled. "You're really pretty."

"Thank you," I said although after twelve hours in a car, I felt like crap. But I appreciated the compliment.

"And this is Jules," Mark said, with an arm around the tall brunette wearing a red sweater. She looked like a ballerina.

"I'm Betsy, nice to meet you."

She smiled shyly and shook my hand. I knew from talking to Mark about his family that Juliana was shy and introverted. But she said that it was nice to meet me.

And then a tall, slender man with silver hair walked into the kitchen. This was Robert Camden. "My stepson has told us almost nothing about you except that you own the bookstore together and you live together. In my daughters' eyes, this means you're going to marry him. I don't necessarily agree but I'm glad to meet you."

I smiled. I liked Robert instantly. "I've heard quite a bit about your family, so I guess I have a leg up on all of you."

He laughed. "My daughter Violet is still doing homework but she should be down shortly."

"Violet!" Mark yelled just then. "Get your butt down here."

I heard footsteps on the stairs and a short redhead appeared a few moments later. "Mark, what did you get me?" was the first thing she asked.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied. "You know me. Vi, this is my friend, Betsy. Betsy, this is my little sister, Violet."

"Are you going to marry her?" Violet asked before shaking my hand or anything.

"Wait," Sebastian said. "Mark is getting married?"

Natalie sighed. "Dinner is ready. Let's eat."

* * *

After dinner, Mark and his stepfather brought our luggage in and I found myself installed in the guest room, which was in between Mark's room and the room Violet and Scarlett shared. Mark was sleeping in his stepfather's office. "I could sleep in Sebastian's room but I'm thirty and I'm kind of over the whole bunk-beds thing," he told me.

I laughed. "I can't see you sleeping in a bunk-bed."

"Why?" he asked with a look of concern. "Am I too sophisticated or something?"

I shook my head. "You're too tall, silly boy."

He laughed and sat down on my bed. "So what do you think of my family?"

"They're surprisingly normal."

"My dad's side of the family isn't, just to warn you."

"Am I going to meet them?"

"They'll be at Carlye's wedding," he replied. "Justin works for my stepmother."

"Your stepmother is Claire Devereaux?"

He nodded. "Haven't I told you this?"

"Probably but I wasn't listening. As soon as I hear her name, I zone out. Justin worships her and always babbles about her."

"I know. He wrote her fan mail for years before she hired him. And educational theorists do not often get fan mail or have near-stalkers."

"He was a near-stalker? I knew about the fan mail but near-stalking? Why is Carlye marrying him?"

He shook his head. "Search me."

I yawned and instantly threw my hands over my face. "I'm sorry!"

He laughed. "It's okay. It's getting late; go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

I spent Sunday relaxing at Robert and Natalie's house, getting to know Mark's family. They were good people. The next day, Carlye picked me up and took me to Starbucks so we could talk. "I don't want you to see the apartment. You'll mock me for centuries to come. It's so messy and chaotic with all the wedding prep crap lying around."

"It's all right. I don't mind drinking corporate coffee once in a while. But don't tell Lucas."

"I would have taken you to a local coffee shop but I don't really know any yet. I'm not drinking much coffee these days and Justin despises all caffeinated beverages."

"So you went from living with a caffeine-addict to a despiser of caffeine," I said.

She laughed. "He's a good man, Betsy. He really is. And at least I'm not living with Mark Williamson."

"Mark isn't as bad as we thought he was," I replied. "He can be sweet and funny and nice. And he's a nice balance from Lucas at times."

"My brother is beyond belief," Carlye sighed. "I wish he would have been willing to come to the wedding."

I frowned. "He's very stubborn."

"I know but I'm getting married and having a baby. And he's my brother. I want his support in this."

"I tried to talk to him."

"Let me guess. He just wrote you off."

I laughed. "He got mad at me."

"That sounds like Lucas, proud and stubborn."

"And annoying, he gave me so much crap about leaving for a week. I almost told him that Mark and I were dating and he was taking me to meet his family and your wedding was just an added bonus."

"My brother would never believe that. He knows that you and Mark would never marry. You don't get along well enough. I'm pretty sure you said you hated him after you met him the first time."

"Like Mr. Darcy, he improves on closer acquaintance."

She laughed. "Do you two sit around and talk about books at night?"

"Yeah, he doesn't like watching _Grey's Anatomy_."

"Neither does Justin," she said. "In fact, he mocks me for watching it."

"Mark makes sure that I get to watch _Bones_ every week."

She sighed. "Justin says that the only reason we have a television in our apartment is so that he doesn't have to listen to me whining about not having one."

"But he loves you, yes?"

"He's marrying me and he'll provide for the baby and me."

That wasn't what I asked but I didn't want to get into an argument with her. "When is the baby due?" I asked.

"Late August," she replied. "Justin is hoping and praying for a boy. I don't care either way and I don't really want to find out because I don't want him to throw a temper tantrum for the rest of my pregnancy if we are having a girl."

I nodded. "If you have a girl, you should name her Elizabeth."

"And name you her godmother as well, I suppose?"

I laughed. "I would appreciate that but it isn't required."

After about two hours with Carlye, she returned me to Robert and Natalie's house. Her parents were arriving in town that afternoon and she and Justin needed to meet them at the airport. But the next evening, I would be going out to dinner with them.

* * *

When I walked into the house, I found Mark and Sebastian playing Clue in the dining room. "Do you want to play with us?" Sebastian asked. "You can be Mrs. White or Miss Peacock. But you can't be Miss Scarlet."

"Why ever not?" I asked sitting down at the table with them.

"Scarlett, our sister, hid the red playing piece from the game when she was about ten or eleven," Mark explained. "Apparently, she's the only one who is allowed to be Miss Scarlet."

I laughed. "I'll be Mrs. White. I like cooking even if Mark is a better cook than I am."

"Mark never cooks for me."

Mark tweaked his brother's nose. "Maybe I'll make you dinner while I'm here."

"You'd better."

"Or maybe you could come visit me sometime," Mark proposed. "Would you like to come spend some time in Ann Arbor with Betsy and me?"

"Could I?" Sebastian was almost bouncing up and down in his chair.

"I don't see why not," I said.

"We'll ask your parents about it," Mark said. "But I'm sure they'd let you come visit us."

"Does this mean you two are getting married?"

I laughed and Mark shook his head. "No, buddy, we're just good friends."

"Well, I like you, Betsy. You're nice and fun. Now let's play Clue."

In the end, I had done it in the billiard room with the lead pipe. And I solved the case myself. To Sebastian, this meant we had to play the game again so that he could solve the case. We played two more times before the rest of the family came home. Mark won once and finally, just as his parents were walking into the house, Sebastian won. It had been Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the rope.

As soon as his mother was inside the door, Sebastian ran to her. "Can I go to Ann Arbor and visit Mark and Betsy this summer?"

His mother laughed. "Did they invite you?"

"Yes," he replied.

"We'll think about it," she said. "But I think we can make it work."

"Okay," he said happily. "I like Betsy. She's cool. Did you know that Mark can cook? Betsy told me that today."

"He never told me that," Natalie told him. "Is he going to demonstrate for us?"

"I want him to," Sebastian said.

"I can, if you want," Mark said. "I'm going to George and Claire's house for dinner on Wednesday and to Betsy's friend's wedding on Friday."

"And then you're leaving on Saturday?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, Lucas wants me to work on Sunday," I said as I rolled my eyes.

Mark laughed. "But I could make dinner tomorrow or Thursday."

"Thursday," his mother said. "And I have great expectations for it."

"You should," I said. "He's really good."

"The women are conspiring against me," Marks sighed.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I'm done with classes for the next four months and I don't start working for six more weeks, so hopefully there will be more updates in the next few months.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I don't own what you recognize. I do love my reviewers.

_

* * *

Lady Catherine DeBourgh is probably one of the most disliked characters in Austen's writings. She is also probably one of the least popular characters alongside Mr. Collins. But she is a timeless character. Every generation has a Lady Catherine. Her gripe with humanity may not always be the same but she will always be there. She's always there-snobbish and bitter. _

_And Mr. Collins is always behind her, preening for attention and delighting in her condescension. I dislike people who enjoy the condescension of others and accept it as what they deserve. Furthermore, Collins approves of and justifies Lady Catherine's actions no matter what she does. He does not understand her actions or motivations; nor does he try to understand. He simply accepts and approves. This is, in my opinion, brown-nosing and that is beyond ridiculous…_

_-"My opinions on Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins," a March 17, 2010 blog post from "Literary Views" by Mark F. Williamson_

* * *

Mark's family was very likeable. Boisterous and outgoing, they made me feel at home. I liked spending time with Carlye but I loved Mark's family. "I wish my family was like this," I told Mark on Tuesday afternoon.

He laughed. "You've never met George and Claire. They're awful."

"You call your own father George?"

"Let's just say that we're not very close."

"I'm not very close to my mother but I still call her Mom."

"Betsy, our situations are very different. Your mother is a silly woman with a good husband. My father is a selfish man with a viper for a wife."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the whole situation with the Wick-McMahon character who was writing articles about me?"

I nodded. "What does that have to do with your dad?"

"George Wick-McMahon is my half-brother, the product of my father's affair with a woman who worked for him. My father has paid for their silence at every step of the way for the past twenty-eight years. Wick-McMahon is bitter about everything my father has done. He has tried to damage my credibility professionally. He's tried to do things to Jules, things you don't want to know about. And my father has paid dearly to keep this all hidden, to make Wick-McMahon happy. I'm not proud of what he's done but I know why he's done it."

"If you were Fitzwilliam Darcy, he would be George Wickham."

Mark laughed. "You could say that."

I shook my head. "You're not what I was expecting, Mark Williamson."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I first read your forewords, I thought you were this older British scholar. And then I met you and I thought you were a snobbish asshole."

"I make a really bad first impression," he replied. "And coming to Ann Arbor was stressful for me. I was going to have to live with Emily. And my family was going through some really difficult things with Jules. I know I was an asshole that night at your parents' house. And I probably said some stupid things."

"You called me a crazy hippie."

"You're not a hippie. And you're definitely not crazy. And I'm sorry. I can be an asshole sometimes."

I smiled. "I've discovered that like Mr. Darcy, you improve upon closer acquaintance."

"Am I improved in essentials?"

I laughed. "I think your ability to make Pride and Prejudice jokes is probably my favorite thing about you."

"All of my charming characteristics and my cooking skills and my ability to make the perfect cup of coffee and you only care about the Pride and Prejudice jokes. My life feels so empty and meaningless."

"You are ridiculous, Mark, absolutely ridiculous."

"That's why we're friends."

I shook my head. "No, we're friends because you make the world's best cup of coffee."

"I'm going to tell Jamie that you said my coffee is better than his."

I laughed. "Jamie brews coffee for the general populace and for money. You brew out of love."

He smiled. "I like making you coffee. You appreciate a good brew. Jamie has plenty of people who feel that since they pay for their cups of coffee, they can complain about it until kingdom come."

"And I just take what you give me."

"That's the way I like it."

I leaned back into the couch and took a sip from my mug of coffee. "So, do you want to entertain me all day?"

"Nah," he replied leaning back into his stepfather's recliner. "I'm tired. Let's just watch movies and you can knit until you have to go out for dinner."

I made a face. "I don't want to see Justin. He annoys me."

"You just have to see him a couple of times this week."

"I have to sit at a table and eat with him. And I have to see him whenever I see Carlye for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry. You're not going to like the next thing I tell you very much if you don't want to see Justin."

"What's up?"

"My stepmother wants you to come over for dinner with Jules and me tomorrow night. I guess George and Claire are having Justin and Carlye over so they want you to come too."

"Do you want me to come?"

"It won't be as much fun as hanging out here with my family but I would like you to come. You'd make it more interesting."

"If you want me to come, I'll come. But it means that Thursday is the only day when I can just be lazy."

He laughed. "If you're game, I was thinking we could go out for a beer together on Thursday night. Or we could just hang around the house and watch a movie or something with my family."

"I'd rather do the second one. I have to spend most of Thursday and Friday with Carlye and I'd rather take it easy Thursday night."

"Fair enough," he replied. "But sometime, we're going out for microbrews together."

* * *

Mark and I spent the day exploring St. Paul and Minneapolis until around five-thirty. Then he took me home so I could get ready to go out to dinner with Carlye, Justin, and Carlye's parents. I like Carlye's parents but I felt that this dinner could get awkward. I knew that they weren't crazy about Justin and they felt that the wedding was rushed. Justin's parents and the rest of Carlye's family were flying in Thursday night. The wedding itself was a simple Justice of the Peace affair being held at a local Kiwanis hall followed by a reception. It would just be their families, a few coworkers, Mark's dad and stepmother, Mark himself, and me at the wedding. It was not the wedding Carlye had been dreaming of since childhood.

Six o'clock found me in the bathroom curling my hair and doing my make-up. "You're really pretty," Scarlett said, appearing in the open doorway.

I smiled. "It's the hair and make-up and the clothes; they make me look better."

"No it's not," she replied. "They help but you're just really pretty."

"Thank you, sweetie." I was wearing gray pinstriped pants and a dark purple long-sleeved tunic. I wasn't looking forward to the dinner but I knew that Carlye wanted me to make myself look my best.

"Where are you going?" Jules asked. Jules didn't seem the right name for her; it was too hard whereas she was so sweet and gentle. But her family all called her by that nickname.

"Dinner with my friend Carlye, her fiancé, and her parents," I replied. "We're going to some really nice restaurant that your stepmother recommended."

"That sounds like fun."

I shook my head. "It would be but the company won't be that great. I'd rather stay here and spend time with your family."

"With Mark, you mean?" Scarlett asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Just because I live with your brother, that doesn't mean that we're dating."

"That's what Mom says but I think there is something between you two."

"Scarlett, come on. Leave her alone. If she and Mark say that they aren't dating, then they aren't dating."

"Mark's personal life is so boring," Scarlett sighed.

I shrugged. "It might be but I can't help him there. I'm boring too."

Just then, Sebastian came running upstairs. "Betsy, your friends are here for you. You have to go!"

I laughed as a million childhood memories came flooding back to me. "Tell them I'll be down in a minute."

* * *

When I got downstairs, Mark and Sebastian were talking to Justin and Carlye. After shaking Justin's hand and hugging Carlye, I went to get my coat out of the closet. But Mark had anticipated me and grabbed it first. He handed me my scarf first and then helped me put on my coat. As I thanked him, I noted a glint of what looked to be jealousy in Carlye's eye; Justin didn't seem like the type to help Carlye with her coat. But then Mark gave my hat and my gloves. "Have a good evening," he said before kissing me on the forehead. And then we left.

"Mark seems to have warmed up quite a bit since I last saw him," Carlye remarked once we were inside Justin's car-a 2003 Ford Taurus that he referred to as his baby.

I shrugged. "It's like I told you the other day. He improves upon closer acquaintance."

"He is Doctor Devereaux's stepson, isn't he?" Justin asked.

I nodded. "He is but he isn't very close to his stepmother."

"That's tragic. Dr. Devereaux is the nicest, dearest woman. She is so good and kind to Carlye, Justin the Second, and me. She and her husband, Mr. Williamson, are helping with all the little arrangements and details of getting married. And they're having us over for a small family dinner with Mr. Williamson's son and daughter from a previous relationship."

"You mean Mark and his sister, Juliana," I said. "They're from his first marriage. Mark and I are staying with his mom who is also known as Mr. Williamson's first wife."

"Dr. Devereaux does not like to call that tramp Mr. Williamson's first wife. She is merely a mistake and a previous relationship, not an actual marriage."

I could see why Mark didn't like his stepmother if she really refused to acknowledge that his parents had been married. It was kind of like she was Anne Boleyn and Mark and Jules were Mary Tudor...or something.

"Charming," I said.

"She owns a small business. That's so contradictory to everything that Dr. Devereaux and Mr. Williamson represent."

"Justin, I co-own a small business with Mark and Lucas. Carlye used to be involved in that business."

"But she got smart and got out. Now she has a real job thanks to Dr. Devereaux."

It was at that moment that for the very first time in my life I considered jumping out of a moving vehicle. Mark would probably pay for my hospital bills-especially if I told him why I'd done it.

* * *

We arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later. I had decided not to jump out of the car because I didn't feel like messing up Carlye's wedding. If she really wanted to marry Justin Collins, I would support her in it. But I'd keep the divorce lawyers section of the phonebook bookmarked.

Carlye's parents were waiting for us when we arrived at the restaurant. "Betsy!" Mrs. Ormond said when she saw me. "It's so good to see you. I haven't seen you in ages. How are you, dear?"

"I'm doing pretty well," I replied, returning her hug. "How are you?"

"We're dandy, just dandy," Mr. Ormond replied for his wife. "We're glad to see you here to see our little Carlye get married to Justin."

"We really appreciate your support, dear," Mrs. Ormond added. "Poor Carlye is really quite stressed out about this wedding with Lucas's reaction to this."

"Lucas is just a silly child," Justin inserted. "In a few years' time, he'll grow up and understand what a wise choice his sister is making."

I tried to smile. Really, I did. But Justin still glared at me. But even his glare is weak and pathetic. He bears far too much resemblance to Jane Austen's Mr. Collins for my comfort.

Throughout the evening, Justin openly expressed his disdain for small business owners and praised academia for preserving American culture and protecting our society from crazy hippies-like me. He even equated Mark with a hippie, which was something I would have liked to see him dare to do in Mark's presence. Mark didn't really look or act much like a hippie. Also, he was an academic as well as a co-owner of the Knit 'n' Lit.

* * *

I got home around nine-thirty. Everyone except for Sebastian was still awake. The girls were all doing homework while Mark, Natalie, and Robert were watching a movie in the living room. And I was immediately invited to "put on more comfortable clothes, grab some knitting, and come join us."

So I went upstairs, put on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, grabbed some knitting, and went back downstairs to watch the second _The Lord of the Rings_ movie. It's not the best one out of the series but it was fun and relaxing after spending the evening on my guard against Justin's comments. I didn't understand what Carlye saw in him but I suppose that it takes all kinds to make a world. But supposedly there is someone for everyone. I just think that my bookish, taciturn, highly opinionated sister Mae would be better for him than energetic, cheerful Carlye.

"So how was dinner?" Mark asked as I settled on the couch next to him.

I shrugged. "I survived. Just wait until tomorrow night, you'll see how tonight was. Justin is obsessed with your stepmother and he acts like every word she speaks is Gospel truth."

Natalie sighed. "Claire must love that."

"He also was ranting about small businesses and the sort of people who own them," I added.

Mark smiled. "So are we still contributing to the downfall of western civilization as we know it?"

I grinned. "That's what I'm told."

"Well, then tomorrow, we should go to Mom and Robert's bookstore and further contribute to the downfall of the west."

"I would love that!"

"Awesome," he said. "I think you'll love the Shades of Pemberley. It's a great little shop."

"I love independent bookstores."

"That just explains so much about you."

* * *

The next morning, Mark and I went over to the Shades of Pemberley around eleven. We had to be at his dad and stepmother's house at six-thirty, so we had plenty of time to kill before dinner.

The Shades of Pemberley was in downtown St. Paul and I fell in love with it from the moment I entered. It was sweet and cozy and homey. "It reminds me of the Knit 'n' Lit," I told Mark.

He nodded. "The Knit 'n' Lit has always reminded me of the Shades of Pemberley. The first time I walked in there, it was like home. You have cozy chairs and there are books everywhere. I've told Robert on many occasions since he and my mom started dating that if he ever puts a recliner in this store, I'll start paying him rent and move in here."

"You notice we have no recliners in here," Robert said, walking up to Mark and me. "So how do you like our little shop?"

"I love it," I replied, taking off my coat. "If you ever buy two recliners, I'll come live with Mark in here."

"And what would happen to your own bookstore?"

Mark laughed. "We'll live there most of the year but this will be our vacation home."

"I love the pictures and the quotations on the wall," I told Robert. The walls were covered in pictures of famous authors and in quotations by authors and from books. Over the small café hung a sign that read "'You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.'-C.S. Lewis."

Over one bookshelf hung the following quotation:

"_Mercy!" cried Gandalf. "If the giving of knowledge is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more should you like to know?"_

"_The names of all the stars, and of all living things, and the whole history of Middle-Earth and Over-heave and of the Sundering Seas," laughed Pippin. "Of course! What less?"_

_-__The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers__ by J.R.R. Tolkien, pg. 260_

"That's Natalie's favorite quotation from any book ever," Robert told me when he saw me looking at it.

"It's beautiful," I replied. "This whole place is absolutely beautiful. And I love the name."

"It's kind of amazing that Robert and Isabel opened a store called the Shades of Pemberley and then Robert later married my mother. And then I got my PhD in British literature specializing in Jane Austen."

"But they were married before you started working on your doctorate, weren't they?" I asked.

"Yeah but I was interested in it before they met. And they didn't influence me that much in my desire to study Austen."

I smiled. "I think their influence nurtured your desires."

He shrugged. "I think it's just good that one set of my parents supported my goals and dreams."

"I thought that your stepmother was all about the greatness of academia."

"Yeah sure but she's not all about owning a small business in state with a horrific economy."

"You're so nice to Michigan."

"Hey now, lady, I'm the guy who made a point of buying a Ford Escape when I moved to Michigan because Ford is based in Michigan and I wanted to support the Michigan economy."

"You're very sweet," I told him. "And you're very kind to my state's economy."

"I try," he replied. "I try to be an ideal man so that someday I can be an ideal husband."

I laughed. "You spend too much time watching BBC America."

"You're the one who arranged for it to be part of our cable package."

* * *

That evening, I went to Mark's father's house with Mark and Juliana. Jules, as I've said earlier, is a shy girl. And I began to realize that it probably had something to do with her parents' divorce and her father's subsequent remarriage to a very dominant woman who had little respect for her husband's first wife and even less consideration for the feelings of his children from that marriage. "So you're the girl who convinced Mark that he should throw his money away on your little knitting shop," she said when she met us in the living room after the butler brought us there. Yes, they had a butler, a freaking butler in the twenty-first century.

"I prefer to think of it as a valuable investment," Mark said before I could say anything. "It hasn't hurt me financially yet."

"Yet," she said in a bitter tone. "Annalisa is doing quite well at your father's law firm."

"Congratulations," he said to his blonde, frail-looking stepsister. "I'm glad to hear that."

"And we're very pleased to hear that Juliana made the Dean's List last semester. I'm glad to see that our money is not being put to waste."

Claire Devereaux was a tall, angular woman with a permanent frown on her face. Her blonde hair was obviously dyed. In some strange sort of way, she seemed like a caricature that had been quickly drawn from some older dowager or another from a Tolstoy novel. She was wealthy, opinionated, bitter, and self-righteous. She wore her wealth upon her person-both in her clothing and accessories as well as in her obvious plastic surgery. Obviously, she would deny ever having had any work done but her face told the truth. She had high standards for everyone around her. And she needed praise-nay, she thrived upon it. She could not live without it. And for this purpose, she had Justin Collins to kiss her ass and sing her praises-in person and online on his blog! So sophisticated…

I'd heard Mark call his stepmother a "modern Lady Catherine DeBourgh" before, but I'd always thought he was kidding-at least, kind of. But no, it was a fabulous description for her. She gave voice to every thought that crossed her mind because she deemed it a social necessity. And meanwhile, her daughter said idly by and glanced about, unsure of how to behave or what to do. Annalisa didn't seem to have much personality. Anytime anyone tried to talk to her, her mother would answer for her. "Miss Annalisa, what would you like to drink?" the butler asked.

"She will have a glass of mineral water, no ice, thank you Harris," Claire answered. "And Miss Ormond will have the same. It is not good for expecting ladies to drink sodas or coffee."

"And for you, Mr. Mark?" the servant asked meekly.

"Do you have any beer?"

"He will not have beer, Harris. Beer is undignified. Mark will have a glass of white wine as will Miss Juliana and Miss Elizabeth. You may bring my husband his usual whiskey and rye. Mr. Collins will have a glass of Perrier. And I will have a glass of red wine."

"I'd rather have cranberry juice with seltzer, please," Juliana said.

Her stepmother sighed huffily. "Juliana, please, you are an adult and you are in your parents' home. You may have a glass of wine."

"But I don't want wine, Claire. I'd much prefer some juice."

"She'll have wine, Harris."

"No, she will not," Mark interrupted. "Juliana will have what she desires. She is an adult and may think for herself."

"I am extraordinarily sorry that you have to see this scene, my dear Mr. Collins and Miss Ormond," Claire sighed. "Juliana is young and headstrong. She does not yet know how to think for herself. And her brother is stubborn and willful. He is spoiling his poor, dear sister rotten and giving into her childish impulses far too often."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at that speech. Fury flashed in Mark's eyes. But Juliana looked embarrassed, which had probably been her stepmother's goal. She clearly wished to give in and take the recommended wine-to avoid further shame or reprimand. But her brother held firm. "She will have the cranberry juice with seltzer, Harris. She may be spoiled but I believe that in this area it is for her own good. After all, cranberries are noted for their benefits to the renal system and I would highly recommend them to my sister."

"As you wish," his stepmother sighed with a wave of her hand and the butler left the room.

"Dr. Devereaux, you are so good, so kind to all of your children," Justin began. "You are fair and open to them and it is so good to see such a devoted parent. If other parents were to see the manner in which you are raising your children, they would be inspired. And perhaps, the American society might be strengthened a while longer against the willfulness and pride of independent spirits that seek to flight against the established, corporate order of the society."

I gagged. I swear to you. I really and honestly gagged at that moment and began to cough so hard that Mark had to hit me on the back. I managed to swallow the bile in my mouth and relax. But when Harris returned, I asked him for a glass of water before I drank any of my wine.

* * *

The rest of the evening was spent listening to Dr. Devereux's opinions on politics (very liberal, as far as she was concerned), social order (corporations are key to our survival), literature (less Shakespeare, more modern books), education (corporations, again although I'm not entirely clear on how or why), the American family (families are no longer necessary), and business (yet again, corporations). Very little was said by anyone else. Mark's father seemed to drink more alcohol than the rest of us combined and said almost nothing; in an odd way, he reminded me of Mr. Hurst from Pride and Prejudice. Justin was constantly agreeing with his precious Dr. Devereaux and waiting upon her every need and desire as well as offering obviously rehearsed compliments to Annalisa. Juliana didn't say a word. Carlye wouldn't look me in the eye. And Mark had a dancing glimmer in his eye the entire time. And I knew we would have a very interesting conversation when we got home that evening.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Please, it makes me love you even more than I already do.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I do not own the obvious. But I love, nay, I adore my reviewers. You are wonderful and fabulous and I really hope you continue to review.

_

* * *

The Hunsford proposal is, without a doubt, a turning point in both Elizabeth's and Darcy's lives. He realizes how proud and arrogant he is and she realizes how strong of an influence first impressions have upon the formation of her prejudices. I think we all have Hunsford-esque moments in our lives. We all have days when everything changes. I was thirteen when my parents divorced, sixteen when my father remarried, and nineteen when my mother remarried. Each one of those days was a mini-Hunsford. My wife had her own personal mini-Hunsford after her senior year of college when the boyfriend she had been expecting to ask her to marry him instead informed her that he was going to Ecuador with the Peace Corps. _

_In none of those moments did anyone ask either one of us to marry them. But each of those moments forced us to reevaluate our opinions and perspectives. My wife told me once that after that incident in college, she no longer takes men at their surface value. It is for this reason that she didn't believe George Wick-McMahon when he attempted to play Mr. Wickham to my Mr. Darcy. While he never tried to seduce my Elizabeth Bennet, he did attempt to seduce one of my sisters as well as slandering my good name and trying to get money from my family by less than reputable means. _

_While my first attempt to win Betsy over was not a success, it led to future successes. It did not destroy our friendship-although things were a bit awkward for a while after that. But our relationship is built upon our friendship. So I encourage you to be faithful. Friendship is so important to building a relationship. _

_-excerpt from a January 2021 letter from Mark F. Williamson to a friend_

* * *

I would love to say that we drove home in peace, had a nice conversation about how ridiculous Mark's stepmother is, had a lovely Thursday, Friday went off without a hitch, and we drove home on Saturday. But I'm a shit liar and you'd never believe me.

We did get home in peace and Mark and I had a great conversation about his dad's family. He explained that his stepmother had become wealthy from corporate business and firmly believed that the corporate business model should be applied to education. "That's essentially the basis for how her school functions. It's kind of crazy because it's a private school and they have complete control over who can attend the school. So they don't have to work with kids who are developmentally delayed or have learning disabilities or anything like that. It's a totally fake situation. And people like Justin who walks around talking about how wonderful she is, they really drive me nuts."

I nodded. "I can't imagine what it's like."

He shook his head. "She is beyond belief. She doesn't like you because you think for yourself."

"I don't care what she thinks of me."

Mark smiled. "I didn't think you would. I was pretty certain that she wouldn't like you very much, but I didn't think it would bother you much either."

"Why didn't you think she'd like me?"

"She views you as a threat."

"How am I a threat to her?"

"You own a small business and that's against what she thinks. Also, you're independent and opinionated; she doesn't like that. And she wants me to marry Annalisa and she views you as a threat to that plan."

I snorted and he laughed. We both knew that was absolutely ridiculous. There was no way he would ever marry Annalisa. And I doubted that we would ever make anything work. Everyone knows that you should never mix business with pleasure.

He looked at me. "You're so different from Annalisa. You're stubborn and you're opinionated."

"You said all that earlier," I reminded him as I curled up in a chair.

"But did I tell you that it's a good thing?"

I shook my head. "You neglected to mention that bit."

"I'm sorry. I think it's a very attractive quality when a woman can hold her own. I don't approve of harpies like my stepmother. But I like women who are strong and firm. And I love owning a small business with you."

I smiled. "I like owning a small business with you too. But someday, I will teach you to knit."

He laughed. "Dream on, Betsy. Dream on."

I yawned. "Lord, I'm so sleepy."

"Shut up, Lydia."

I laughed and he rolled his eyes as he undid his tie and took off his navy blue dress shirt, revealing only a gray t-shirt. Mark was handsome; I'd known that from the day I met him. But I'd never realized that while he didn't make the best first impression and didn't talk at all when in certain company. His father and stepmother seemed to bring out the worst in him. During dinner he had become the bitter, silent, awkward man I had met in September. But then once we were in the car on our way home, his warm, friendly demeanor had returned. "I don't get it," I told him. "You can be the kindest man but when you're in situations that make you uncomfortable, you clam up and become this entirely different person."

His hands went to his head and began rubbing his peach fuzz scalp. "I know. I don't do well with strangers. I can handle packed lecture halls but not personal conversations. Betsy, my father is an alcoholic and he's trapped in a marriage with a woman who doesn't really care about him and is using him. My stepmother disgusts me and infuriates me. I remember the 'before' version of my dad and I hate being around him. He's done things that have hurt me since I was a little boy. Your mom might be socially inappropriate and stuff like that. But you know where she stands. She's not trying to hurt you. She thinks that all of her awkward comments and set-ups are helping you. My dad could care less."

"I'm sure somewhere he does care about you."

"It must be really deep down," he grumbled.

I sighed. "Maybe it is. And maybe he doesn't know how to express it. But I'm sure that he loves you. Mark, you're his son. How could he not love you? Heck, how could anyone not love you?"

"You didn't like me at first."

"You called me a hippie artist freak. You might as well have said I was barely tolerable."

He laughed. "I didn't know you were listening."

"Darcy didn't know that Elizabeth was listening."

"Come here," he said. He was lying on the couch while I was curled up in an armchair.

"I don't want to. I'm comfy here."

"Elizabeth, get your ass over here."

Groaning all the while, I stood up and walked over to him. "What do you want?"

"Sit," he said, patting his lap."

"Uh, why?" I asked.

"Just do it," he replied.

"Doesn't Nike have that line trademarked?"

"Elizabeth," he sighed before standing up and picking me up. Then he sat back down and settled me in his lap. "Bets, you're amazing and I misjudged you at first. But you're great and I'm so glad you're in my life."

I leaned my head against his chest. "You're pretty great too. Plus, you're comfy."

"I go to the gym every day of the week and all my hard work gives me the name comfy?"

I snuggled closer to him and nodded. "I like a nice firm bed. And I'm sleepy."

* * *

"Get your hand off my face, Sebastian."

"I'm not Sebastian," I mumbled.

When I woke up, I was still wearing my nice clothes from the night before. And I was sprawled out on the couch with Mark. He looked at me and I looked at him. "Well, we're both still dressed," I said.

He looked at his watch. "Betsy, it's eight o'clock; my entire family has seen us and left us alone."

"How did this happen?"

"Relax," he said. "We didn't do anything other than share a couch for eight hours."

I sighed. "I know but I've never done anything like this before. I've never slept in the same bed as a boy or anything like that."

"You dated Jamie for over two years," he said as he sat up.

"I know but we never felt like that was something that we needed to do. Jamie's family is really conservative and traditional. He's not the kind of guy who sleeps with a girl unless he knows that he's going to marry her. And in the end, I don't think that he ever felt that he KNEW that we were going to get married when we were in college. So we never did anything. I dated a guy in high school but that was never serious. And I haven't been in a serious relationship since then." I looked at him seriously. "Mark, I'm only twenty-four years old. I have my whole life ahead of me."

"Well, I hope I didn't corrupt your innocence," he said with a wink.

I laughed. "I'm not corrupted. But I do want to take a shower and get changed. I can't believe I slept in my clothes."

"You look cute," he said.

"You're full of it."

He rolled his eyes. "I should get changed too."

* * *

An hour later, we were both back downstairs making breakfast together in the kitchen and drinking coffee. "Can we just forget that conversation in the living room ever happened?" I asked.

Mark laughed. "Don't worry. You're talking to someone who hasn't been in a serious relationship since high school."

I looked at him. "Are you serious? That's like thirteen years."

"Thanks. Thanks for making me feel good about myself."

I blushed. "I'm sorry. But I can't believe it."

"Dude, I was around Emily Bingham for like seven years and then I got a year off when I went to Vanderbilt but then she came back when we all moved to Ann Arbor. She likes to make it look like we're together and she pushes women away from me. I've never even been interested in her. I met her when we were kids and I've never been in the dark about who she is and what she wants. But she doesn't get that."

"I think I've heard her call you her boyfriend before."

"Never," he said without hesitation. "If I had to choose between being as celibate as a monk for the rest of my life and marrying Emily, I'd pick being as celibate as a monk."

I laughed. "I think you've been practicing for that one already."

I hit me with a dishtowel and everything was normal again. Sure we'd slept on the same couch for eight hours but it would be all right. We'd talked about the fact that neither one of us had a sexual past; that was all right too. We lived together. We were good friends. And that friendship would continue. We could still be friends. All was well with the world.

* * *

Carlye's wedding was the next day. At ten-thirty, she picked me up and took me to have my nails done. Then we had lunch with her mother, Justin's mother, and her younger sisters. It was awkward, mostly because of Mrs. Collins who kept harping on the fact that Carlye was pregnant before marriage. Lena Ormond, Carlye's nineteen-year-old sister, was upset because she had wanted to be a bridesmaid. I was Carlye's only bridesmaid because Justin didn't really have any close friends, so his younger brother, Jason, was his best man. Jason and Justin are very different but Justin had already told me that I wasn't allowed to "pull any moves on my brother because he's way too good for you." I had assured him that they had nothing to worry about. I'd met Jason before and he was not my type.

* * *

After lunch, we girls went to get our hair and make-up done. I felt like a doll and not necessarily in a good way. I really wanted Mark to look at me and tell me that I looked good. I didn't believe Carlye or her mom or Lena; they were just trying to be nice. But Mark was different; I would just look at his face and I would know if I was pretty or not.

The wedding was set to start at four but at three-forty-five I was helping guests in the hall while Mrs. Ormond convinced Carlye that she really did want to marry Justin. The bride was having second thoughts. She was concerned that Justin didn't really love her because he wasn't willing to hold her hair while she was throwing up. I'd left the room around that time because Mrs. Collins came in and asked me to show people to their seats. "Justin and Jason are busy getting ready, so it needs to be you."

Dr. Devereaux immediately asked me where the bride was, but before I could answer said, "I suppose she's vomiting. I know how pregnant brides can be."

I restrained myself from asking her if she had been one herself. "Where would you like to sit, ma'am?" I asked instead.

"Directly behind the groom's family," she replied. "After all, I am making sure that all of this happens. I would not like my employee to have a child out of wedlock."

"I thought I had heard that you were opposed to marriage as an institution."

"You're both insolent and impertinent. My feelings with regard to marriage and family are none of your concern."

"Oh, so you read the thesaurus?" I asked.

She huffed. "I am Dr. Claire Devereaux and I will not be spoken to like that, young lady. Who are you to speak to me like that?"

"I'm Elizabeth Bennet and my father is head of the English department at the University of Michigan."

"You're a small-business owner," she hissed. "You're tearing apart the fabric of this country. And worse, you've corrupted my stepson by dragging him into your little shit-pot."

I rolled my eyes. "If you feel like that, that's your prerogative. Now, you must excuse me. I must go and assist other guests."

Before she could say anything, I hurried away and found Mark-quite by accident. His eyes went wide and he grinned. "Damn, Betsy, you look hot."

I blushed. "You think so?"

He nodded. "That green looks wonderful on you. And I like your hair like that."

"You should see the bride. She looks much better than I do."

He shook his head. "I doubt that. I might be biased but I think you're going to steal the show."

I ducked my head down so that he wouldn't see me blush, again, but he put a finger under my chin and raised it up. "No, Betsy," he said in my ear. "Don't. You look splendid."

I smiled. "Thank you, Mark."

"I'm not saying anything that isn't merited." And then he kissed my cheek. "Now show me to my seat."

* * *

The wedding was short and simple. I don't think it lasted more than fifteen minutes. And then we went to the reception, which was in another room of the same building. Carlye did look lovely but I never heard Justin say a thing about it. How was it that my roommate was kinder and more observant than her new husband? The reception was the plain simplicity of the wedding; the hall was decorated with many different colors of daisies and green tablecloths. Jason and I both gave short toasts. And then there was dancing. Of course, I had to dance with Jason once and he got a little hands-y, if you know what I mean.

When I left Jason, I began searching the room for Mark. He was sitting at table with Mr. Ormond; I forgot that they probably had met before and with their mutual love of books were probably getting along fabulously. But I went over to them and they both looked up when I put a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Hey," he said. "I saw that guy you were dancing with. I don't like him."

I smiled and sat down next to him. "I'm not crazy about him either but he's the best man and Carlye wanted us to dance together once."

"Well, you're done. Now come dance with me."

I smiled. "You have to ask nicely, Mr. Williamson."

He laughed and stood up. "Will you do the honor of dancing with me, Miss Bennet?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Williamson," I replied, taking his proffered hand and standing up. My shoes were black stilettos with three-inch heels and that made Mark laugh.

"You're getting closer but I'm still taller."

I laughed. I was (and probably still am) five-foot-five while Mark is six-foot-two. It's hard to explain but I don't mind the height difference. It can be quite cozy when we're dancing together or when we were on the couch on Wednesday night. Sometimes, I feel like he can just tuck me up against his body so that I can disappear. But when we dance, he won't let me.

I looked him over from head to toe and smiled.

"You approve?" he asked. He was wearing his black suit, a dark blue shirt, and a silver tie.

"Yes," I replied. "I very much so approve; you look great. But then you always are a snappy dresser."

He smiled. "Blame my mother. She always stressed the importance of dressing well when we were kids."

"I'm glad she did."

"How long do you want to stay?"

"Just until the bouquet toss," I replied. "I want to get some sleep before we leave tomorrow morning. Carlye told me I don't need to stay any longer than I want since we have a long drive home tomorrow. And these shoes are killing my feet."

He smiled. "Well, go catch that bouquet and then we can get going."

I laughed and leaned my head against his shoulder. I didn't want to fall in love with Mark. I couldn't fall in love with Mark. It would create so many messes. We couldn't live together while we were dating-at least not at first; it would be too confusing and too complicated. Working together would be much more complicated; conflicts from work would affect our personal lives and conflicts from our personal lives would affect our work lives. And what would happen if we broke up? How would the shop keep going? Loving Mark as more than a friend was, without a doubt, impossible.

* * *

I caught the bouquet. Okay, so Carlye basically handed it to me over her shoulder. But I got it. It was a beautiful bouquet made of white and pink daisies. And then I congratulated Carlye and Justin. "I wish you both all the best," I told them.

"And Justin the second," Justin said, putting a hand on his new wife's abdomen. "Don't forget the little guy."

I smiled. "I wish all three of you the best. Good luck with everything and I hope to see you soon."

"We'll be in Michigan for Easter," Carlye told me.

"Probably," Justin amended. "If Dr. Devereaux invites us to her party, we'll stay here."

His wife stiffened and clenched her jaw. "We'll discuss this later, Justin."

"If my kind patroness invites us, we will attend. It is our duty."

"How is she your patroness? This is not the eighteenth century."

I sighed. "I'll leave the two of you. And I hope I see you soon."

Carlye hugged me. "I love you. And good luck with Mark; he's a good egg."

Justin shook my hand and said, "It's very kind of Mark Williamson to be so kind to you but don't get your hopes up. His stepmother hopes to see him marry Annalisa."

"I'm aware," I replied before walking over to Mark who was waiting for me with my coat and the bag containing the clothes I'd been wearing before the wedding.

"Do you want to change?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I want to go home."

He put down the bag and helped me into my coat. Then we walked out of the building into the snow in silence.

* * *

Walking in heels in the winter is a bad idea. If you would like to know how I know this, please ask my ass. We were about two feet from the car when my feet flew out from under me and I screamed. Mark grabbed me but he was too late and his arms were too full. I hit the ground hard, on my butt. And I started crying. Mark put down everything he'd been carrying and picked me up. "Are you okay?" he asked as he carried me (like I was nothing) to the car.

"My butt hurts and my dignity is severely wounded."

"I'm not kissing your butt to make it better."

I smiled. "Just get me to the car and take me home."

"Your wish is my command."

* * *

When we got to his mom's house, Natalie helped me get out of my dress and into some pajamas. Then, as it was only nine-thirty, Mark and I decided to join her and Robert in watching _People Will Talk_ on PBS. So Mark got me some ice for my bruised butt and made me a nest on the couch. I produced to stick my sore feet in his lap and demand a massage. He laughed before conceding.

"I think Mark likes someone," Iris, who was also in the room, stage-whispered.

"I think someone wore three-inch stilettos all day and is tired," I sighed.

"Mark doesn't massage our feet when we've been wearing heels."

"You're my little sister. Betsy is my roommate. It's different."

"But my feet hurt sometimes too."

Mark laughed. "You weren't a bridesmaid in a wedding today."

"Did you catch the bouquet?" she asked.

I laughed. "I did."

"See, you two are meant to be together!"

"Iris, we're trying to watch a movie here," Mark sighed.

She sighed. "But I'm interested in you."

"I'm not up for general conversation. I'm watching this movie, so shut up."

* * *

The next morning, we dragged ourselves out to the car and drove home. I slept for the first two hours, again. And then Mark made me drive through Wisconsin. He took over driving again before we got to Chicago because driving in Chicago scares me. Somewhere on the Dan Ryan Expressway, he looked at me. "Betsy, what would happen if I asked you out on a date sometime?"

"I'd probably say no," I replied after a long pause. "You're a great guy but you're my roommate and my business partner and my friend. I can't date you-ever. It would be too dangerous, too messy. It's better if we're just friends. It's safer."

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Why is it better?"

"It would be bad for the Knit 'n' Lit if we dated. You know it's bad to mix business with pleasure. And besides, things between us would never work out. You hate my mom."

He sighed. "I don't hate your mother."

"But she annoys you. I can see it whenever you see her or talk to her. She's pushy and she talks too much. And my dad is your department chair. It could be bad for you there if we dated. It's just a bad idea on the whole. Iris is just a kid being silly. Don't worry about it, Mark. Let's just be friends."

"If that's how you feel," he said with a certain note of sadness in his voice.

Five hours later, we got home and unpacked the car. Then I went to my room and stared at the wall. Mark was a great guy but I couldn't like him or love him. I just couldn't let myself. No, really, I couldn't. It wasn't safe or possible.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I still don't own the obvious. And I'm still not Jane Austen. But you, my dear wonderful reviewers, are fabulous and I love you. Thank you for reviewing and please continue to do so.

_

* * *

To be totally honest, I've never really understood Charles Bingley. He's supposedly madly in love with Jane Bennet but then when Darcy and his sisters tell him that she isn't interested in him, he just quits. When the girl in whom I was interested told me that we couldn't date, I set out to prove her wrong. I know a guy whose sister told him that his girlfriend wasn't interested in him and he bought her line. I didn't understand that either. To me, as a man, I have to remain committed to the girl and not believe what other people tell me she thinks and feels. The woman of whom I spoke never told me that she wasn't interested in me; she simply said that for business reasons we couldn't be together. _

_But she gave me a reason that we couldn't be together. Jane Bennet never gives Charles Bingley any sign that she doesn't want to be with him. He just listens to Darcy, Caroline, and Louisa. How can he not see through them? Didn't Darcy meet this guy when they were in university together? Why was it so easy for Darcy, Caroline, and Louisa to persuade Charles that Jane didn't love him? _

_-excerpt from the beginning of "Thoughts of Charles Bingley," an essay by Mark F. Williamson_

* * *

Sunday morning, I woke up at five-thirty. I showered, threw my hair into a messy bun, put on a pair of skinny jeans, a white tunic sweater, and a purple scarf. Then I put on my snow boots and tucked my leather boots into my bag along with my current knitting project-a dusky rose colored sweater for myself. I put on my coat, hat, and gloves. And I left for work, locking the door quietly behind me. I got to work at six-thirty.

Jamie was already in the café when I got there. "How was Minnesota?" he asked.

"Great," I replied. "I'm really glad I went."

"How was the wedding?"

I shrugged. "It was fine."

"How is Mark?"

"He's doing well. He was asleep when I left this morning."

The conversation was getting awkward. I didn't feel comfortable talking about Mark with Jamie. I wasn't about to tell him that Mark had broached the subject of dating. I couldn't tell him that I thought I might be falling for Mark. So I went into the office to change my shoes and look over the records from the previous week.

* * *

Mark came into the shop around noon. I was restocking the yarn side of the shop while talking to Hannah and Mercy. He talked to Lucas and Jamie who were both over at the counter. I didn't want him to be mad at me. I still wanted to be his friend. But we couldn't date. We couldn't.

He came over to me as I reorganized yarn that had been incorrectly sorted. "How is it going over here?" he asked.

"You know how Lucas is always telling me that he's colorblind?"

"He'll tell anyone who will listen to that line."

"I'm becoming convinced that he's actually just blind in general. Sorting the yarn is quite simple if you just read the labels, something he apparently failed to do."

Mark smiled. "Betsy, you know Lucas. He doesn't like working in this part of the shop and he probably just threw yarn where he thought it went."

"Mark, what exactly do olive green and hunter green have in common?"

He shrugged. "Guys don't really notice colors. Don't stress it, Bets. Just fix it and ask someone else to handle stocking the next time you leave."

"I'm never leaving again. Apparently, I can't leave Lucas alone."

"Don't make any rash decisions, Bets. Now I have a question for you."

"Sure thing," I replied.

"Kevin's flight is landing at two tomorrow and I have a noon class and a four o'clock class."

"And you want me to go get him?"

"If you don't mind," he said. "I'm emphasizing the world 'if.' I'll cancel my classes or something if I need to."

"No," I said, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder. "I can do it. I don't mind."

"Don't lecture him, please."

I sighed. "Fine, I'll be good."

He smiled. "I want to lecture him first."

I laughed. "But Jenna is my sister."

"He was my friend." The use of "was" rather than "is" caught my attention but I said nothing.

I kept working and he drifted away. He was working with the books and getting frustrated. Apparently, Lucas hadn't done much while we were gone. And neither had Jamie, Hannah, Mercy, or Lucy; Lucy didn't surprise me but the others did. I thought they were more responsible than that. But I guess that they do need Mark and me around more than I thought they did.

* * *

I kept expecting Lucas to ask me about the wedding but he never did. He never asked to see pictures of the wedding or hear about it. It was as if he was trying to pretend that Carlye didn't exist or she hadn't just gotten married. Jamie asked me a few questions before he left at one-thirty but Lucas kept shooting him dirty looks, so he just shrugged and left. "I'll ask you later," he whispered in my ear as he left. It felt oddly intimate and I didn't like it. Intimacy with Jamie made me uncomfortable. He'll occasionally touch my arm or my back or whisper something in my ear and I don't like it. It feels odd to me, which is odd considering that he was once my boyfriend. But that intimacy, once so familiar, is now lost. He was gone for two years and in those two years, I changed. I grew up or something.

Mark, on the other hand, is more careful with me. He gives me space when he thinks I need it. Sometimes he's overly cautious but he's good. I know that he'll probably tiptoe around me for the next couple days-partially because of the conversation we'd had in the car on the way home and partially because he knew that I was concerned about the effect that Kevin's visit would have on my sister. But while he would occasionally kiss my forehead or cheek or hug me, these gentle touches were always welcome and usually given with some form of warning. The warnings had been far subtler of late but they were still there.

* * *

The next day, I got up at five o'clock and was at work at six. I drove myself to work even though Mark had told me the night before that he didn't mind getting up a couple of minutes early to drive me to work. But I needed my car that morning. I was working until one-thirty and then going to the airport to get Kevin. I found a sticky-note on the kettle that said "Call me as soon as you get back here with K. I'll try to get back here as soon as I can."

I loved that he stuck it on the kettle. He knew that was the one place I would definitely stop before heading into work. When and how did he start to understand me so well? And could I really accept such kindness and goodness from him? But I had to because that was the way Mark was; he wasn't going to stop being nice to me just because I couldn't date him. At least, I hoped things between us wouldn't change too much. I enjoyed his friendship and company.

* * *

I got to the airport at two o'clock. I parked my car and took my purse and my caramel soy latte to international baggage claim to meet Kevin. I knew I'd be waiting a while but I didn't really mind. I was tired. Lucas had finally relented and was giving me afternoon or evening shifts the rest of the week. I know part of it was because he didn't want to work early mornings at the beginning of the week. But there were other people (Jamie) who could work as a manager in the early morning. And Jamie was far more of a morning person than I ever had any hope of being. All the coffee and tea in the world could never make me a morning person.

* * *

At two-thirty, a familiar head of light brown hair appeared through the doors from international baggage claim. "Betsy!" Kevin cried out as he rushed towards me. "It's so good to see you."

I forced myself to smile. "It's good to see you too."

"It's been so long," he said.

I nodded. "I was beginning to think that we'd never see you again." Actually, I'd long ago determined that we'd never see him again. Even Mark felt that way; he'd told me months ago that he doubted we'd ever see Kevin again.

"I've always wanted to come back but I had some very pressing business keeping me in England."

"Are you ready to go?" I asked.

He nodded. "Of course, thanks so much for coming to get me."

I smiled. "I had a free afternoon. It's not a huge deal."

* * *

"So how is Jenna?" he asked me once we were in the car.

"She's doing well," I replied. "Work is keeping her busy."

"Is she seeing anyone?"

I shrugged. "I think she's gone on a few dates but nothing serious."

"How has she been since I left?"

"Kevin, she is doing well but you did hurt her when you left like that. Now she hasn't given up on life or anything since then but what you did was wrong."

"I didn't mean to hurt her. You have to believe me, Betsy. I really didn't mean to hurt her."

I sighed. "She genuinely felt something for her. You told her that you'd be back soon and you'd call her all the time. And you did none of it. You don't exactly come out of this smelling like a rose."

"I know but I had reasons for what I did."

"You might want to give her those reasons rather than me."

"I don't know how to."

I glared at the road in front of me and sighed. "Try talking to her. Actually, you should have tried talking to her two months ago. I'm not much of a messenger, Kevin, and I probably won't tell her what you want her to hear."

"I asked Mark to talk to her for me. And that didn't go well."

"Let me guess. He wouldn't do it."

He nodded. "He told me to man up and start fighting my own battles."

"That sounds like Mark."

"Betsy, do you understand him? He holds himself to such high standards and it bewilders me. How does he live like that? He expects so much of himself."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He hasn't had sex in years. He doesn't have flings. He wants to get married and have a long-term monogamous relationship. Look at his parents' marriage. It's ridiculous. He's expecting the impossible."

I shrugged. "I think it's impressive that even though his parents' marriage failed, he still believes in marriage."

"Maybe," Kevin said; it sounded more like he was trying to be agreeable than like he was conceding the point. "But my parents have been married for over thirty years and they're obviously unhappy together. I'm just not sure how I feel about marriage."

"I know that Jenna wants to get married. She's talked about it for years."

"I might be willing to get married for the right girl but I'm not a prude like Mark."

I wanted to sigh. Heck, I wanted to knit socks; I was stressed. But I had to get him back to the apartment. And then I could get Mark to come home. Mark was calmer than I could be and he wouldn't find the whole situation with Kevin as stressful as I would. Or at least, he would handle it better than I would.

"Where should I put my stuff?" Kevin asked when we got into the apartment.

I shrugged. "Mark will tell you when he gets home. He said something about letting you have his room while you're here."

"I don't mind the couch."

"Talk to Mark," I told him. "I think he wanted the couch since he has to get up really early a couple mornings of the week."

* * *

I stepped into my bedroom and called Mark. "I'm on my way home already," he said. "I'll be there in about five minutes. And he is staying in my bedroom."

"I'll see you soon," I replied.

* * *

Five minutes later, Mark was standing in the kitchen with a stern look on his face. He was also scruffy and I suspected that he hadn't shaved since Friday morning. "Kevin, you can have my bedroom. I have eight o'clock classes on Tuesday and Thursday and I leave the house before seven. Also, as I recall, you're a pretty light sleeper and hearing Betsy or I moving around in the bathroom or the kitchen might wake you up if you're in the living room."

"If you insist," Kevin replied meekly.

Mark ran a hand over his scruff. "I do insist."

Kevin shrugged. He was smaller than Mark and meeker. He was also more hesitant and easier to persuade. Mark has always been very stubborn and strong-willed. Kevin has a much more mild personality and will agree with people to make them happy. Mark will fight for what he wants and do anything he can to make sure things work out the way he wants them to.

"So what are you two doing for the rest of the day?" Kevin asked.

I shrugged. "I have some work I need to catch up on."

"And I need to grade papers," Mark said. "I just had my Brit Lit students hand in an essay today."

"You assigned an essay over spring break?" Kevin asked. "You're cruel."

Mark shrugged. "I know. Oh, Betsy, I ran into your dad today and he said to tell you to call him."

"He couldn't just call me himself?"

He laughed. "That's too easy for him. I think he thinks it's kind of funny that I'm your roommate and he can just use me as a method of communication."

"He would," I grumbled. My dad finds the weirdest things funny-like mocking his daughters or his colleagues. He also finds endless humor in my living situation.

"So call him or he'll start reminding me in departmental meetings."

"You should try reminding him that his wedding anniversary is coming up."

"That's what a secretary is for," Kevin inserted.

I shook my head. "Have you ever met my dad? His secretary leaves him notes to remind him of things, sends him emails, calls him, AND programs things into his phone and his computer. He still forgets birthdays and anniversaries. He barely remembers Christmas or Thanksgiving."

Mark smiled. "He's an absent-minded academic."

"Yeah, I know his socks never match."

"My socks always match."

"Once I wore mismatched shoes to class when I was in college," Kevin offered. "I had a black loafer and a brown oxford on."

"My dad's socks never match," I said. "My mom used to pair up his socks but he would still manage to show up in mismatched socks. So eventually, she just gave up and let him walk around with mismatched socks and forgetting his glasses."

"If I get too many PhDs, will I end up like that?" Mark asked.

Kevin looked confused but I laughed. I loved understanding his sense of humor.

* * *

That evening, I stayed in my room, knitting and working out a pattern that I was looking to sell. I could hear Mark and Kevin talking out in the living room but I was trying to avoid them. I knew that Mark wanted to talk to Kevin alone. So I was watching a movie on my laptop and knitting and drinking tea. Around ten, I heard a knock on the door. "It's Mark and I bring beer."

"Come in," I replied, as I stopped the movie.

He walked in and sat down on my bed, handing me a bottle of Sam Adams Cherry Wheat beer. I smiled. "Thanks. How'd it go with Kevin?"

He shrugged and moved my laptop off the bed before stretching out on my bed. "I'm disappointed in him."

I wanted to run my hand over Mark's head or something else that would soothe him. Instead, I took a sip of beer and asked, "Why are you disappointed?"

"He doesn't get why I'm so mad at him about running off on Jenna. He says it isn't a very big deal and she's gotten over it already."

"How'd he come to that conclusion?"

"Did you tell him that she's been on a few dates since Christmas time?"

"Well she has!"

"In Kevin's mind, it means she's moved on."

I snorted and he squeezed my knee. "I know that. But I think I might actually know your sister better than he does."

"You do spend time with her. And you know that she doesn't like beer."

He laughed. "That's obvious. She'll drink wine and girly drinks but she won't drink beer."

"Don't worry," I told him, running my hand over his scalp; I loved the fuzzy feeling of his hair beneath my hand. "I still love beer. We can still drink microbrews and watch old movies together."

"And we'll just give your silly sister a glass of wine or a Mike's."

"Does Kevin not understand that?"

He shook his head. "Kevin, I don't understand Kevin. He wanted to bring Emily with him. Why on earth would he bring Emily here? She's obsessed with me."

"There's your answer."

He sighed. "But she hates you. Why would she want to come here and stay in your apartment if she hates you? What would she do all day?"

I shrugged. "Mark, I'm not Emily and I don't understand how she thinks. Maybe she thinks that if she comes here, you'll drop everything to spend time with her."

Mark laughed a coarse, rough laugh. It wasn't his usual kind laugh but rather a bitter, mocking laugh. "Bets, you're worth ten of her. I'd drop everything to help you. Heck, I did drop everything to help you when I bought out Carlye and I moved in here. But I wouldn't do that for her."

I smiled. "You're a good friend, Mark."

He shrugged. "You know, Betsy, my motives weren't totally altruistic when I helped you guys out. I love bookstores and because of the Shades of Pemberley, I've always wanted one of my own. Then you and Lucas needed help. And I wasn't about to live by myself in that house that Kevin got us into. You provided me with something I'd always wanted and with the opportunity to get out of a situation I didn't want to be in. Heck, I'd probably have offered to sub-lease from Carlye even if Kevin and Emily hadn't moved back to England."

"You really don't like her."

He shook his head. "I hate that she tries to insinuate herself into my life. I don't like how she thinks that playing games with me will make me want to date her or marry her. I hate her obsession with wealth and social class. I like living here in this apartment with you and working at the University. I love picking up shifts at the shop. She'd never understand that. I like knowing that I earned the money I put in my bank account."

I realized at that moment that I like listening to Mark talk. He's honest and that's rare in the people in my life. My father avoids things, my mother twists things, and Jenna ignores things, and so on. The only serious relationship I ever had in my life was Jamie and that was a failure. I thought we were going to get married but apparently he wasn't so interested in that idea; he wanted to join the Peace Corps. So he left and I stayed to open the Knit 'n' Lit. And then Mark Williamson walked into my life with his gorgeous exterior and totally blunt interior; it was unexpected to say the least. He always says what he's thinking-even when he's thinking that his new department chair's daughter must be a crazy artist-hippie.

Suddenly, he looked up at me. "Betsy, why don't you want to go on a date with me?"

There it was. Mark F. Williamson was honest, extraordinarily honest. And at some point between January and March, I had become his best friend. He now expected the same honesty out of me that he had always given me. And I had to tell him the truth. "You can't mix business and pleasure."

"Excuse me?" Those gray-blue eyes that I loved were muddled with confusion and worry.

"We live together. We co-own a business together. We do so much together. What would happen if we start dating and things don't work out? We'd ruin everything. EVERYTHING, Mark, we've barely been friends for two months and we'd ruin everything if we started dating. Jamie and I were friends before we dated and I thought that would work out perfectly but then he joined the Peace Corps."

"I thought you were friends again now." He didn't sound angry; he sounded sad.

"We are. But it won't be the same. It's all different now. Mark, I loved him. I wanted to marry him. I thought we were going to get married. The night I thought he was going to ask me to marry him, he told me he was joining the Peace Corps and he would be gone for twenty-seven months. I thought we were going to get married."

Mark didn't say anything. He just looked at me with those gorgeous eyes and held my hand. He held my hand until I started crying. Then, he pulled me into his arms and cupped my neck in one hand, while still holding the other hand and tracing circles on it with his thumb. "Oh, Elizabeth," he sighed, his breath hot against my tear-stained cheek. "You deserve so much more than you settle for. You deserve to be loved and cared for. You're always worrying about your sisters or the store or Lucas or Jamie or Carlye. You get stressed and start making socks. Socks are great but you need someone to take care of you. Bets, you deserve to be taken care of."

And then I fell apart. I just started sobbing like a baby in his arms. And he just sat there and held me while I cried. I hope we didn't wake Kevin up or disrupt his sleep with our late night emotion-fest.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I hope you enjoyed it.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: If you recognize it, I probably don't own it. And you, my dear reviewers, are absolutely wonderful.

_

* * *

Some persons who bear the gender "male" do not deserve to be called "men." Think of Willoughby or Wickham. Henry Crawford is another example. They manipulate other people and take advantage of people. Many women try to romanticize the "bad boys" of literature and think that if only such and such had happened, then Henry Crawford would have been redeemed. But maybe he didn't really want to be redeemed. Maybe he really preferred having his pick of the women to being with only one really good woman. That isn't what I would prefer but maybe, just maybe, that's what Henry wanted. After all, he had a rather "liberal" education and we don't really know what that means. But we do know that he has rather unusual ideas about male-female relationships. And while I know women who try to romanticize Henry Crawford, I dislike the character. Admittedly, I'm not a big fan of Edmund Bertram either, but I'd rather see one of my sisters marry Edmund over Henry any day. In my opinion, Henry does not respect women. Sure Fanny works to make him a better man but at what point in all of that does he actually respect her and treat her as a human being? _

_Maybe I'm wrong about Henry. But I know that there are guys out there who mess with girls just to get what they want. We all know that Wickham is like that. Willoughby can be like that although his feelings towards Marianne seem sincere. However, he did not treat Colonel Brandon's ward with any respect. Maybe it's because of the fact that my parents are divorced and the circumstances that led to that, but respect in relationships is very important to me. _

"_R-E-S-P-E-C-T: Find out what it means to me" a March 24, 2010 blog entry on "Literary World Views" by Mark F. Williamson _

* * *

Mark and I decided to invite Jenna over for dinner on Wednesday evening. We would both be home and that would give us an opportunity to supervise Kevin and my sister together. Mark didn't trust Kevin and he didn't want to leave me alone with them. He had a meeting Tuesday night and I had to work late Thursday night. Mark wanted to pick me up from work on Thursday because he always did that. Generally speaking, Mark did well at covering his dislike of Kevin-at least when I was around. I didn't know how well he did when they were alone.

* * *

After Monday night, things were very peaceful between Mark and me. We had talked for a long time about the fact that he worries about me. He worried about me because, according to him, I spent too much time worrying about everyone else, so someone had to worry about me. But after that conversation, I realized that he did care about me. And his concern for me, which was a new thing, was a very good thing. But it was different and not something I was used to. I wasn't used to someone checking up on me or insisting on driving me home from work just because they didn't want me to walk home in the dark.

But I learned to accept it gracefully. And I learned to love seeing Mark waiting for me at nine o'clock. But before I would move through all of that, I had to make it through Kevin's visit.

* * *

I got home from work around five-thirty on Wednesday to find Mark cooking and Kevin piddling about what he was going to wear. "I want to impress her, Mark. You know?" I heard as I walked into the kitchen.

"Just put on khakis and a polo shirt," Mark sighed. "Betsy is home and she doesn't care what you're wearing."

Kevin walked into the kitchen wearing only his briefs and an undershirt. "Oh, hey, Betsy, I didn't realize you'd be home so soon."

I smiled as I walked to my room. "I got off work at five."

"Go get dressed," Mark said, exasperation dripping from every word.

* * *

I came back into the kitchen a few minutes later to the sounds of Dean Martin. Mark smiled at me. "I'm sorry about him."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. Can I do anything to help?"

"Set the table," he replied.

"You sound like my mother."

"Please don't ever tell me that again."

"I'll try to avoid it."

He smiled. "Now set the table. There are four of us." He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "Don't let Kevin and Jenna sit next to each other, please."

I stood on tiptoe and replied, "Promise."

"You're never going to be tall enough to really reach his ear," Kevin remarked as he walked into the kitchen.

Mark shrugged. "She could try standing on a chair."

"Could you please give me the plates, Mr. Giant?" I asked in my best five-year-old voice.

He laughed but he took the plates out of the cupboard and handed them to me. As I was setting the table, the doorbell rang. "I'll go down and get her," Mark said.

To get into our apartment, you have to come through a door and then come up a flight of stairs and go through the actual door the apartment. However, Mark and I keep both doors locked-something Carlye often forgot to do-so we have to let people in whenever they come over. I knew that Mark was trying to protect my sister and didn't want to give her any one-on-one time with Kevin unless she explicitly asks for it. He needs to remember that Jenna is not as assertive as I am, but he does have good intentions and I appreciate and respect that.

* * *

A few awkward (between Kevin and me) minutes later, Mark and Jenna came upstairs. She was carrying a salad in her arms and chattering nervously about the weather while he smiled. "And it's cold, but it's not really cold," she said as she came in. "Oh, hi Betsy, how are you? Can you take the salad please?"

I took the salad and hugged her. "I'm doing pretty well. I think I'm finally caught up on sleep. How are you?"

"Pretty good," she said. "I can't really complain."

"Jenna, can I take your coat?" Mark asked her.

She took off her coat, scarf, and hat and gave them to him. I realized that neither she nor Kevin had acknowledged the other one's presence yet. It was all awkwardness in the room and suddenly I wished that they weren't there and that it was just another ordinary Wednesday night with Mark and me home alone.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" I asked my sister.

"Some tea would be great," she replied. "I'm really cold."

"You've got it," I told her as I gave her our box of teas. "Just pick your poison and I'll boil water for you."

"Could I also have some tea?" Kevin asked.

I nodded. "Just look at the box when Jenna's done with it. Mark, can you grab mugs for them, please?"

"How is it working out for you two to live together?" Jenna asked.

Mark smiled. "It's going well. We get along really well and I think things are going well."

"I agree," I said. "I like it. It's actually more peaceful than living with Carlye."

"How was her wedding? I was sad I couldn't go."

"Carlye got married?" Kevin asked.

"To Justin Collins," I said. "He was working at Washtenaw Community College but now he's working at the Devereaux School in St. Paul."

"He's a nice guy," Jenna said.

"That's one way of looking at it," Mark replied stiffly. "He's an interesting person."

My sister touched her long light brown braid gently and shrugged. She was dressed delicately-wearing trouser jeans and a gray cardigan, an outfit that, while it was nice, suggested a slight amount of trepidation about being noticed. This didn't surprise me; she had genuinely been interested in Kevin before he just bolted on her.

Kevin looked like an extraordinarily preppy version of Prince Harry in his light blue polo shirt-that matched his eyes perfectly-and khaki pants. He looked stiff but proper. Mark, on the other hand, looked completely at home in blue jeans and a navy blue sweater, a sweater that only days earlier I had told him looked "really stellar" on him. I was wearing blue jeans and a navy blue sweater of my own. I'd made my sweater; his mother had made his. I never knew it until we went to Minnesota, but his mother makes most of his sweaters. I liked that about him. His presence was warm and comforting-like a handmade sweater from your mother-but also very subtle.

* * *

"Dinner's ready," Mark said just as the kettle started screeching to let us know that the water for tea had boiled. "Betsy, can you pour water and wine?"

I nodded and did as he asked as Kevin remarked, "But can she change the water into wine?"

"She doesn't need to," I replied. "We have enough wine in this kitchen to last us a good long while."

"I was trying to be funny."

"Clearly, you failed," Mark said with an acid note in his voice.

I poked him in the back and motioned him over to the sink where I was filling a pitcher with water. "Behave yourself," I whispered in his ear. "Please, do this for Jenna's sake."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied in my ear before kissing my cheek.

Before Mark had put his arms around me during that brief exchange, I hadn't realized how tense and stressed I was. I was nervous and feeling someone's hands on my back showed me just how uncomfortable I was in that moment.

"Can we talk later?" I asked.

He nodded; I didn't see it but rather felt his scruffy cheek moving up and down against my own cheek. He squeezed my free hand and whispered, "After Kevin goes to bed" in my ear. I smiled. For all of my previous insistence that I wouldn't like this man, he was becoming one of my best and dearest friends. I liked the feel of his scruffy cheeks against my soft feminine ones. I liked hearing the rumble of his rough, tired voice when we talked late at night. I loved knowing that he was there to protect me and care for me-even if I didn't always agree with his methods.

* * *

Halfway through dinner, Kevin asked Jenna how she was doing; the first thing that he'd really said to her since her arrival. She smiled and began talking animatedly about teaching and her love of her students. "I really could do this for the rest of my life-teach first grade, that is. I love it. They're so young and eager and they want to learn. They get so excited about the simple things and it's great. They're so innocent."

"But they won't always be innocent," Kevin said.

"That's why I enjoy them while they are."

He shrugged. "I think that you should prepare kids for the real world, not let them live in their worlds of teddy bears and dreams."

"I disagree," Jenna replied. "I think that if we allow them to dream, those dreams may change the world. Maybe they can fight through the difficulties of the real world if we let them dream rather than crushing their dreams. I think it's important to let kids dream and to teach them to dream big."

He shrugged. "I suppose I can see your point. But the world we live in is so sad and confusing. Why would anyone want to bring children into this world anyway?"

My sister slammed her hand down on the table. "Why do you insist on being so depressing about everything? You weren't like this last fall. You used to be an optimist. Or at least, I thought you were an optimist. But now, you're just bitter and angry and obnoxious. Children are good things. And there is good in this world. But you have to look for it instead of just telling people not to dream and getting that children will eventually lose their innocence. You're not the person I thought you were and I don't think that I like this person that you are."

"Life is pain," he replied. "And people rarely are what you think they are."

"But there are still good people in the world. Look at Betsy. Look at Mark. They're good people, aren't they?"

Kevin sighed and ran his hand through his overly-gelled hair. "I suppose they are. But it's more complicated than that."

"I disagree," Jenna replied angrily. I'd never seen her acting this angrily before in the previous nearly twenty-five years of my life. Mark also looked shocked and a little uncomfortable.

"You want things to be simple, Jenna, and they aren't!" Kevin exploded. "There are always ulterior motives. People never do things just to be nice."

"Wow, you really are Mr. Cynical. I totally disagree with that statement because I believe myself to be the sort of person who does things every damn day of her life with the only intention of being a kind human being and showing love to others." I was startled to hear my sister swear but I supposed that she had a reason.

"Well, you're a rare breed. Most people aren't kind. Trust me. I've seen more of the world than you have and I know what I'm talking about."

Mark kicked my foot. "You want to leave?" he whispered.

I nodded and we slipped out of the kitchen into my bedroom, seemingly unnoticed. The yelling continued from the kitchen for a while but it calmed down and it appeared that they were actually having a conversation that had begun with my sister yelling "But why, why did you just abandon me like I was worthless in December? Why did you just drop me from your life without any warning?"

"As much as I'd like to hear the answer to that question, we really shouldn't eavesdrop," I told Mark. We were both standing by the door as if we were waiting for something to happen.

He nodded and sat down on my bed. "Come here, Bets, please."

I sat down next to him and he put an arm around my shoulders. "I'm worried about her. She's so innocent and fragile and vulnerable and graceful. She's so good. And I don't want her to get hurt but she's been hurt. Do you know that since we were little girls I've always tried to protect her? I would defend her reputation at school if people said mean things about her. And when she was in eighth grade and I was in seventh, I punched David Parker in the face because he dumped her in front of the entire lunchroom. I broke his nose and made him cry. I got detention for a week."

Mark smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because it wasn't the only time I did something like that for her," I replied. "I want to hurt Kevin for what he's doing to her if I could."

"I know you do. But your sister is an adult and she has to take care of herself on this one."

I sighed. "But I want to fix this. I'm frustrated. He's hurting her, Mark, and I have to stop it."

"No, you don't. This is something that they need to work out for themselves. You can't break Kevin's nose and make everything all better anymore. We're not in middle school now."

"Mark, she's my sister."

"Betsy, I have four sisters just like you do. I understand your desire to protect Jenna. But sometimes you have to let people handle their own problems."

"But I've always been stronger than my sister and I'm better at handling things. She's so sweet and kind and gentle. She'll let people get away with anything."

Mark looked concerned and he bit his lip. After taking a deep breath, he looked at me and said, "She's an adult, Betsy. I know that you want to protect her but she's an adult now and sometimes you just have to let people make mistakes. You can try to help her but you cannot fix this for her."

"But I want to!"

He put a finger to my lips. "Do you remember the other night when I told you that you spent too much time worrying about others and not enough taking care of yourself?"

I nodded but wouldn't look up at his eyes.

"That's what you're doing right now, Betsy. If I could, I would fix everything that's gone wrong here. But I can't. And you can't either. This is between Jenna and Kevin." I opened my mouth to protest and he put his finger back on my lips. "No, Betsy, this is their situation and their problem. I've talked to Kevin and I've told him what I think of what he did. But now he has to take care of it. Not you, not me; we can comfort Jenna after the fact but we have to let them be adults."

"Why did he ever come back?"

"I don't know, Betsy. I know and I don't know all at the same time. He says that he felt a connection with her that he's never felt before and maybe that's true. But there's something else going on. Something happened while he was in England. I wish I could talk to Emily because she's probably caught up in this somehow and she would brag to me about what she did."

"Could you email her?"

He shrugged. "I have to be careful with her. She thinks that we're in some sort of relationship, which we're not. She's the last woman on earth I could ever be persuaded to marry."

"You're silly," I replied, smiling for the first time since-well, since before Kevin came.

He grinned. "I know. Now, let me do some work on that back of yours. You're as tense as a brick."

"That's a fine analogy. Do the people at Oxford know you talk like that? They might want their doctorate back."

Mark laughed. "You're not nice. I'm just trying to be nice here and you're being ridiculous."

"Fine, if you're willing to help me out, go for it."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I felt better than I'd felt since Kevin had arrived. And Kevin and Jenna were still talking in the kitchen. "I'm hungry," I told Mark. "I never got to finish dinner."

"Do you want me to sneak out and get the rest of our food for us?"

"It's our apartment and they're barricading us in my bedroom."

"They probably don't realize what they're doing."

I sighed. "Then feed me, boy."

He laughed. "I'm six years older than you and you're calling me boy. You've got some kind of problems, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"I'm hungry. I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Just then, we heard voices from the other side of the door. "What do you think they're doing in there?" Jenna said.

"Probably having crazy monkey sex or something like that," Kevin replied.

"Betsy and Mark?" she asked. "They'd never do that."

"Oh come on, Jenna. Don't be so innocent. They've been living together for two months. What else are they going to do?"

"Bicker," she replied. "And they'll watch movies and read books and talk about books and movies. They're not romantically involved. I'd know if they were; she's my sister."

"I'm not saying that they're dating but they've got to be having sex. How long can two reasonably attractive adults live in the same apartment before they start doing the nasty?"

"More than two months," I whispered in Mark's ear.

"I'm more concerned about the fact that we're both only reasonably attractive. I would have thought that at least you would have ranked higher than reasonably attractive."

He was also much more than reasonably attractive. But I was blushing and he was laughing at that.

"Kevin, I think they can hear us," Jenna sad. "And I don't think they're having sex if they're sitting in her room laughing at us."

"They just seem to have some sort of unresolved sexual tension thing going on."

Mark shrugged at that. "I think we should go out there and get our food now."

"That sounds great to me," I said as I stood up. I had to be careful around him. He was far beyond reasonably attractive in more than just the physical arena. And if I didn't watch myself, I'd fall in love with him. Maybe I'd already fallen for him and I just couldn't admit it.

* * *

Kevin and Jenna were not back as a couple as Mark and I were informed two seconds after I opened my bedroom door. "But we're on speaking terms again and we're going to try to talk more regularly," Jenna said.

"I might move back to the States in the fall," Kevin added. "We'll just see how things go. We have a lot we need to work out."

"We're going to move slowly and cautiously," my sister told us. "But I have a good feeling about this." She glanced at her watch. "But now I need to get going. Betsy, I'll come bother you at work tomorrow and we can talk more."

"Sounds good," I said, giving her a hug.

"See you soon, Mark," she said.

"Take care of yourself, kiddo," he replied before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Mark insisted on calling her "kiddo" because she reminded him of a slightly older version of Jules and he thought of her as another "kid sister."

* * *

Kevin walked Jenna out to her car and Mark and I grabbed our dinners from the table. After heating up our food, we went back into my bedroom. "You said you wanted to talk to me," he said as we sat down on my bed.

I nodded. "You may have noticed that having Kevin around here is stressing me out."

He smiled. "I've seen a few hints that it might be happening."

"And I think you know why it's bothering me."

"Oh Betsy," he replied. "I'm not saying it's wrong that it bothers you but I also think we've been over this issue enough tonight. I don't want to keep telling you to stop worrying about people. Pushing you will get us nowhere. You just need to relax and spend time with someone who isn't going to push you or make you worry."

"Why are you nice to me?" I asked. "You want to date me and I won't let you, but instead of sulking in the corner or nursing your wounds, you're nice to me."

"I love you, Bets. And I know that you've been hurt pretty badly in the past. You're trying to protect yourself. But Betsy, I want to protect you. And that's what I'm trying to do."

"But why are you trying to protect me and take care of me?"

Mark reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face. "I love you, Betsy. I love you and I want you to be happy. I want to take care you."

"But why?" I asked.

"Betsy, my parents got divorced eighteen years ago because my dad was an alcoholic and was cheating on my mother. I was thirteen and I thought that marriage was stupid and a waste of time. That view only intensified when my father married Claire Devereaux three years after divorcing my mom. Twelve years ago, my mother remarried to a man who loved her, cared for her, and respected her. In the past twelve years, Robert and my mom have showed me day in and day out that while marriage is almost impossibly hard, it is worth it. Love is worth it. And Robert has shown me, more through his actions than through his words, that women deserve to be loved and respected. You don't deserve what Jamie did to you three years ago. But you do deserve love and respect. Now, we've only been real friends for the past two months or so, but I've learned something about you in the past two months. You've allowed yourself to settle for less than what you deserve for a very long time. You accept friends who take so much from you without ever giving anything back to you. You accept a mother who manipulates you and mocks you. Your father loves you but he doesn't respect most of the women in your family. I like your dad but he reminds me day in and day out of Mr. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. He happily hides away in his office, in his work rather than notice the problems within his own family. Lucy and Cam wouldn't be so boy-crazy if he spent more time with them, if he made an effort to help them rather than mocking them. And the same is true for Mae. Your father even mocks his own wife openly. That's where you come from. And that's what you've settled for. That's what you're still settling for. But you deserve so much more than that. You deserve love and care and protection and respect."

I looked up at him through tears. "You really believe that, don't you?"

He nodded as he ran his thumbs over my tear-stained cheeks. "I believe that every woman deserves those things. But you really deserve them. You're smart and beautiful and funny and talented and you deserve nothing but good things. You're so kind to your family and your employees and your friends. And you deserve nothing but kindness in return."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Then don't say anything, Betsy. But think about it. I want to build something with you. I think that we really have a shot together. I love you. Please try to think about it and give me a shot, give us a shot."

Tears were still running down my cheeks. He grabbed a Kleenex and started dabbing at my face with a smile on his own. "I won't force you into anything, Betsy. I just want what's best for both of us."

I nodded and leaned against his chest in a kind of silent consent and he held me like that for a long time. I had a lot of thinking to do before I could officially agree to be his girlfriend. But I could do that thinking because while what he said did cast my family in a pretty negative light, he was right about everything he said. And he was offering to give me something that I desperately wanted-and something I was starting to realize that I needed.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Firstly, I don't own what you recognize. And secondarily, I love my reviewers. You are all wonderful.

_

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I have always found Lydia to be one of the stupidest creatures created by Jane Austen. She is gullible and ridiculous. Her own father calls her ridiculous, but then Mr. Bennet may not be the best judge of character. However, I feel fairly certain that Darcy and probably even Knightley would agree that Lydia is ridiculous, a girl who has lived without boundaries for most of her life and has no clue what socially or morally appropriate behavior are. This is largely due to a lack of education-a lack that can be largely attributed to her parents. _

_I have known silly young women whose parents could have and should have checked their behavior for their own protection. And I have seen these young women get hurt in ways that they never would have imagined. It is heart-breaking to see these things happen and I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be Darcy or Jane and Lizzy during Lydia's adventures with Wickham. _

_-"Lydia," a June 27, 2009 blog post from Mark F. Williamson's blog "Literary World Views"_

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* * *

Chapter 16**

* * *

The next month changed me and challenged me in ways that I'd never been stretched before. The only constant in my life was home, Mark, and the shop. Everything else-my family, my other friends-was in flux. And it was stressful. Everything and everyone that I had counted on for so long changed during that month. I found myself questioning relationships and confused about the minutest details of my life. It hurt and it was stressful.

Thursday afternoon, my sister stopped by the Knit 'n' Lit wearing a black skirt, a light blue blouse, bright blue tights, and snow boots that she quickly exchanged for ballet flats. "Yeah, you don't teach early elementary school at all," I said look at her outfit.

She laughed. "Yeah, and you're not a hippie artist at all."

I was wearing a knit purple dress over skinny jeans with gray knee-high boots and lots of silver jewelry. And to top it off, I was wearing a headband crocheted from the same yearn as the dress. "Mark told me that I looked spunky when he saw me this morning. Speaking of Mark, I need to go take Mom's birthday present to Dad at some point today. But tell me about last night. You were going to tell me what Kevin has been up to."

She sat down at a table and took out a scarf she was knitting. I pulled a sweater out of my basket and sat down opposite her. "His family is going through some really difficult things right now," she began. "Things got really messy right around the time that he and Emily went home for Christmas. There was stuff going on between Emily and an ex-boyfriend or something like that. And his older sister got divorced."

"Is she the one that Mark always calls Louisa?" I asked.

"Her name is Frances."

"I like Louisa more."

Jenna smiled. "That's you. But back to the point, I guess this divorce caused a lot of drama and trouble in Kevin's family. He changed a lot of his opinions during that time. And Emily and their grandmother convinced his parents that he shouldn't be allowed to come back here for a while because he was unstable or something."

"So it had nothing to do with you?"

"Why would it?" she replied, taking a sip of tea.

"Jen, surely, you're not naïve enough to believe that Emily really and genuinely liked you? I know you like to think the best of everyone and all but Emily was an odd duck and I don't think she ever really liked you one bit."

"Betsy, I know you and she didn't get along well but you can't keep on hating her like this. She's Kevin's sister and I think she's a nice girl at heart."

I sighed. "Mark backs me up on this. And he's known her much longer than you have."

"Mark is cynical and skeptical of everything and everyone."

"Jenna, he's also known the Bingham family for most of his life and can tell you more about them than you can learn in a short period of time."

My sister slammed her tea mug down on the table. "Betsy, you know nothing of love. Love can learn more and understand more in a few months than friendship can learn in years. You don't understand that; you've never been in love."

"I haven't?" I asked. "Then I just threw away over two years of my life on Jamie?"

"That was different, young love. Kevin and I, we're more mature than you and Jamie were then."

I sighed. "There we have a difference of opinion but let's not argue about this. I just want you to be careful with Kevin."

"Careful, you're always being careful. In fact, I don't want to be mean, but Betsy, sometimes I think that you're too careful."

"Maybe I am," I replied. "I don't know."

"Loosen up," my sister advised. "You just need to be more relaxed and take life as it comes to you."

Lucas came over to me just then; he must have entered while I was talking to my sister. "Hey," he said. "I hate to interrupt but I need to borrow Betsy."

"Take her away," Jenna replied.

* * *

I followed Lucas into the office and sat on the desk. "What's up?"

"I need to take a week off," he replied. "And it needs to be soon. I'm in the middle of something that requires more of my attention than I can devote to it while I'm working. And I let you take a week off for my sister's wedding, so I need you to do this for me."

"Yeah, sure, of course," I told him. "Let me know when you want to go away and we'll rearrange the schedule to make it work. I can definitely pick up some shifts to help you out and stuff."

"And Jamie can work mornings for me. I know how much you hate mornings. And I won't do what I did to you this week ever again."

"No more mornings ever again?" I asked.

"Never," he replied. "And that's a promise, munchkin."

I grinned. "Then do whatever it is that you need to do and feel free to do it."

"You are amazing, Betsy Bennet, and I'm so glad that we're in business together."

I had no clue what he was planning to do or how it would affect my life and the people who really matter to me.

* * *

Kevin left on Saturday; Jenna took him to the airport while Mark and I worked a rare joint shift together. He knew that things were tense between my sister and me but he didn't know the details of the situation. And I wasn't ready to talk to him about that yet. It's a really complicated situation, far more complicated than it appears on the surface. Hannah and Mercy were also both working. Jamie had opened with Mercy but then left when Mark and I arrived. He looked dead tired and barely acknowledged us as we entered. He just shrugged his coat on, waved at us, and left the shop.

Jamie seemed tense and stressed that morning but Mercy said that the morning at work had been calm and normal, so whatever was bothering him wasn't work related. On the desk in the office, there was a note from Lucas telling me that he was leaving the following Wednesday and would be gone for two weeks. "It's urgent," he had written at the bottom. "But I promise you that I will repay you for your help."

"He'd better," Mark said, stabbing the note with a pencil. "We were only gone for a week and that was while Hannah and Mercy were on spring break and they were able to help pick up the slack. Now, it's going to take a lot more work from you and Jamie to pick up the slack around here."

"Yeah and I think that I am going to have to work morning shifts to make everything work out."

"I'll make you coffee and come in and work the first couple of hours with you, if you like."

"You're sweet," I replied.

He smiled. "I try. But seriously, Betsy, I'm going to have to put in more hours around here if this is going to work at all."

I ran a finger over his creased brow and smiled. "We should talk to Jamie and see what he thinks. But I think we're all going to have to work our asses off for this to really work."

"It may be time to talk about hiring more employees," he said.

"Mark, it may be time to talk about buying Lucas out."

"And then the shop would just be ours, yours and mine? Is that what you're saying?"

I nodded. "We're more committed to it than he is. At least, that's what I think."

"Betsy, can you afford to do that?"

I nodded. "I've been penny-pinching lately to make sure that I can make it work."

"Oh, Betsy, no," he said, anxiety flooding his face. "I don't want you to have to do that."

"Mark, it's okay. Really, it is. I can cut corners here and there for a little while if it means better things for the shop. Remember that this is my dream and I will do anything for it."

"I know," he replied. "I know how many sacrifices that you're willing to make for this place. And I love you and admire you all the more for it. But promise me that you won't do anything stupid just to make sure that the shop survives."

"Mark, how can I do anything stupid? If I even start getting sick, my roommate is running off to CVS or Meijer to buy me everything I'd ever need to survive even the bubonic plague."

"I have to make sure that you stay healthy. After all, if you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything."

I smiled at his reference to The Princess Bride, one of our mutual favorite books. But then I turned serious. "I'm trying, Mark; really I am."

He squeezed my hand as he whispered, "I know you are. But I worry about you and I care about you. I don't want to see you hurt yourself on accident."

* * *

It was nice to have our apartment to ourselves again but somehow, I felt that things had changed during Kevin's visit. It had lasted less than a week but something had changed. Mark and I had changed. We had grown closer. Personally, I had grown to love talking to him late at night and processing our days together. I realized this Tuesday night as I sat on the couch alone, eating raspberry sorbet out of the carton and watching _You've Got Mail_ in my pajamas and glasses. I had to open the next morning and while I wasn't looking forward to it, I wasn't really dreading it either.

Mark was at a faculty dinner honoring "somebody or other for doing something that your dad or someone else important thinks is special or important or whatever," as Mark explained it to me that morning. Some days, I think that Mark's life motto must be "If you can't dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit."

But I didn't really like being home alone. Alone with Mark was good. Alone as in literally alone by myself, that was not so good. Jenna and I were mysteriously on the outs; she seemed to be mad at me for distrusting Emily Bingham. And I couldn't just call Carlye up; she was busy with her husband. So I was alone. And I didn't like it.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep during the movie because the last thing I really remembered was the discussed of the various women in Joe Fox's father's life. And then, the next thing I knew, I was dancing with Jim Caviezel as the Count of Monte Cristo who was whispering "Betsy, seriously, you need to sleep in your own bed" in my ear, his breath hot against my neck.

I tried to lean my head against his and Jim sighed. "Betsy, you're ridiculous."

And then I opened my eyes and the gorgeous count was Mark. "I thought you were the Count of Monte Cristo," I told him.

"I get that all the time," he replied. "Now go to bed."

"I'm tired," I moaned.

"This is why you should go to bed."

"No," I said. "I sleep here tonight."

"Elizabeth Louise, I'm going to count to ten."

"You have fun with that. I'm going back to sleep."

"Do you want me to carry you to bed?" he asked, with a sigh that seemed awfully faked even to my exhausted brain.

"Okay," I replied, holding my arms and legs up in the air.

Mark laughed and shook his head before picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom. "This is not where I wanted to go."

"Betsy, brush your teeth and wash your face. Then use the toilet. And then you can go to bed."

I pouted and he laughed as he put me down on the bathroom floor. "I'll be back in five minutes and I expect to find you ready to go to bed."

Five minutes later, he came back and took me to my room. Before I went to sleep, he even read me the first two chapters of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, another mutual favorite book. We both agree that "There once was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb and he almost deserved it" is one of the greatest opening lines ever penned.

And then I fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, I got up at five o'clock and Mark and I were at work by six. He left for his other job at ten while I was planning on staying at work until five or six. I did it. And then I went home, ate dinner, and went to bed early so that I could get up and do it again the next day. The next day was going well until around five o'clock when Jenna called me and told me to meet her at our dad's office. "It's an emergency," she said in a voice that sent chills down my spine and made me fear that something absolutely horrific had happened. "You need to get here right away."

The tone of her voice forced me to throw on my coat, grab my purse, and run out of the shop, calling "Family emergency!" over my shoulder to Jamie. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in my dad's office as he explained to us that Lucy, my sixteen-year-old sister, had disappeared the day before and this morning had sent my dad an email telling him that she was in Mexico with Lucas Ormond.

"In Mexico with Lucas Ormond?" I repeated. "But he's dating some girl named Maeve. Why would he be interested in Lucy? She's sixteen for God's sake!"

"He's probably not interested in her," Jenna said. "It's probably some weird mistake or something."

"No, Jenna, your optimism will not carry us through this one," my dad. "Your sister's email makes everything quite clear. She is besotted of the damn fool. And I have to figure out how to handle this. Your mother's ridiculous nature and my careless parenting have come back to bite me in the ass. And the bite is cruel. I must pay for my crimes."

"Dad, I think you're being a little hard on yourself," I said. "Lucas is one of my closest friends and we work together. You would think I would have noticed that something was going on between Lucy and Lucas."

"Betsy, they were using code names according to Cam. She was the only person who knew about it. He was Ryder and she was Maeve."

"Ryder and Maeve?" my sister asked. "Why would they use those names?"

Our dad shrugged and leaned back in his chair. Our father is not a romantic figure. He is in his mid-fifties, his hair is thinning and grayish-white, and he's been overweight since the Clinton administration because he eats when stressed. He wears white socks with sandals and elastic-waist pants. His glasses blend in with the rest of his face. He may be terribly important but he does not look it. Students do not take his classes merely to look at him as occasionally happens to Mark. His office hours are not nearly as popular as Mark's are. But he is a good professor.

But at that moment we were reminded that his parenting skills were not so great. "I don't know why they used those names, Jenna," he snapped. "And quite frankly, I don't give a damn about that. All that I know is that I want my daughter back before they get married or do something worse."

"How is Mom doing with all of this?" I asked tentatively. "Does she know?"

"She's acting like Mrs. Bennet from the book," my dad sighed. "It's all drama and excitement and confusion at the house. Mae is moralizing and Cam is whining. And I'm screwed, completely screwed. I don't know how to find them or how to fix this. I'm fucked, girls. I'm fucked."

"There has to be something that can be done," I said. "Can't we hire a private investigator to find them or something?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't even know how to begin to figure this out, Betsy. Like I said, I'm fucked."

Jenna shrugged and curled up in an ivory Victorian armchair my dad kept in his office. "There's nothing we can do," she said. "Lucy is gone forever."

"There has to be something we can do," I replied, picking up my purse. "And I'm going to figure out what it is."

* * *

I charged out of my office with tears in my eyes but without a plan. And I somehow managed to crash right into Mark. I dropped my purse and fell to the ground. It wasn't just the force of the blow. It was everything that had just fallen upon me. My business partner had taken my sister who was underage to a foreign country and had promised to marry her. What the hell did Lucas want? Why was he doing this to Lucy, to our family, to me? And as I looked around the floor and realized where I was, I started to cry.

Mark immediately got down at my level on the floor, picked up my purse and all the things that he had been carrying, and moved them against the wall. Then he gently kissed my temple and picked me up. Only then did I realize that we were right outside of his office. "Just a moment," he whispered in my ear as he put me in a soft chair in his office.

He left the office and quickly returned with our things, which he set on his desk. Then he knelt in front of me and took my hands in his own strong, warm ones. "Betsy, what is wrong, sweetheart?"

"Lucas and Lucy ran off to Mexico together," I whispered. "She sent him an email about it. Apparently she sent it to the whole family but I haven't really looked at my personal email since yesterday."

"Lucy and Lucas?" he asked.

"They're in Mexico together. That's where they both went. And my parents are so careless and indiscrete that Lucy could sneak out of the house without anyone noticing or really realizing."

"That's where he went?" Mark asked, disbelief flooding his face.

I nodded and started to cry again. "And she's lost because my dad won't do anything about it except whine. He's worse than Mr. Bennet, you know. Mr. B at least did something about Lydia's elopement. But my dad just sits there and says that he's fucked while Jenna acts like Lucy is dead or something. But she's not. She isn't dead. We can find her. Emails are traceable. And I bet that Cam knows a hell of a lot more than she's letting on. We can do something about this besides weep and wail. And I'm going to do it. I don't know what but I'll figure it out. I'm going to save my sister. I have to save my sister. I'm her only hope."

As I said that, he cupped my chin in his hand and pulled my head closer to his. "I promise you that you are not alone right now, Elizabeth Bennet. You are not alone."

"Yeah right," I sighed, pulling away from him. "Who the hell would ever help me?"

As he gently traced circles with his thumbs on my hands, I knew the answer before he said, "I'll help you, Betsy. I will help you. I've been where you are before. I know how to find the kind of bastards who take advantage of innocent girls. And I'm going to help you. I promise."

And then I started crying again. "Did you drive here?" he asked.

"No, I walked. My car is still at the shop."

"I'll go over there later and get it. But I'm going to take you home now, okay?"

I nodded and grabbed his hand. He picked up my purse, grabbed his messenger bag, and helped me to his feet. And then he led me out to his car to take me home.

* * *

Jamie arrived at our apartment with my car around ten-thirty. "I'm sorry that I'm so late. I just finished cleaning up," he said when he came in. I was on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, and clutching a mug of tea.

"You're fine," Mark told him. Mark had spent most of the evening on the phone trying to find a private investigator that would help us. He'd found someone around nine and was planning on meeting with the guy at the Knit 'n' Lit the following afternoon. "I've been working on trying to find Lucy and Lucas."

"How are you doing?" Jamie asked, flopping down into Mark's recliner.

Mark sat down next to me and pulled me against his chest. "I found a private eye and I'm meeting with him tomorrow."

"Good, but why are you doing this?"

"Dr. Bennet has given up."

"My dad says that there's no hope or no point."

Jamie shook his head. "That, unfortunately, sounds exactly like your father."

I nodded. "Oh I know. But I'm going to figure this out. I'm not going to just let my sister rot in Mexico with Lucas."

"I thought he was planning on coming back after two weeks away," Mark said.

"His email said that his plans were up in the air now," Jamie said. "At least, that was the email I got. It mentioned nothing about Lucy."

"Oh dear God," I sighed. "What has my sister gotten herself into?"

Jamie shook his head and Mark pulled me closer to his body before kissing the top of my head and leaning his head against mine. I was terrified for my sister but I knew that I had found a man who would always keep me safe. I could only wish that she had found someone as dependable as Mark.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Also, the updates will be less frequent now that I'm working M-F, 9-5. But I will try to keep this up. And I hope you guys are enjoying this story.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I don't own what you recognize. But I do love this story and I love my reviewers.

_

* * *

Wickham's crimes and sins are terrible. But I think that it would be worse if someone who had always had all the appearance of goodness in him suddenly committed Wickham's most vile crime/sin. It would be terrifying for all who had known him. It would cause more pain because it would be unsuspected. Elizabeth was not entirely shocked by Wickham's actions with regards to Lydia because she was aware of his past. She knew that he had attempted to do something similar in the past. Her emotions largely stemmed from the fact that she had done nothing to stop his actions rather than being horribly shocked at what he had done. She did question his motivations but that is logical. A logical, sane woman such as Elizabeth Bennet cannot be expected to understand why a man such as Wickham would seduce and elope with a young woman such as Lydia._

_But imagine if Wickham had been a good friend of Elizabeth's, someone whom she trusted, then how would things have turned out? What would Elizabeth have done differently? And if her reaction was different, how would Darcy have reacted? While I know that it is impossible to answer these questions, I still find it interesting to entertain them. I once wrote an article in which I stated that I could not understand what Darcy and the oldest two Bennet sisters went through after the Lydia-Wickham elopement. However, in the years since I wrote that article, I have been through some similar situations and I have to say that knowing the person who hurts you like that makes it very different from an unknown. While Wickham was not an unknown to Elizabeth, he was not her friend either by the time of Lydia's elopement. She knew him for what he was. But in a situation where the culprit is a trusted friend, the pain of an action such as Wickham's is much, much worse for all involved parties. _

_-Excerpt from "In a Different World," an essay published in the summer of 2015 by Mark F. Williamson, professor of British Literature at the University of Michigan_

* * *

The first thing that Mark's private eye told us was that we have to call the police. My dad had rejected this measure for fear of having his name (and that of his department) dragged through the mud. Pete Murchison told us that was a ridiculous (and self-centered) fear and advised calling the police as soon as possible. So while Mark continued to talk to Pete in the office, I went into the storage room and called Jenna. "I never even thought of calling the police without talking to Dad," she said.

"We should at least try it," I told her. "Lucy is our sister and we should try to help her. So we're calling the police."

"I'll do it," she said. "You keep talking to the private eye guy. And I'll go talk to the police about it."

"Just convince Dad that we need to do this. We need to get Lucy back."

"I know," my sister said, her voice sad. "And Betsy, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about the way everything is going. You're a great sister and I hope you know that."

"I'm just trying to do what's right, Jenna."

"I know, but I think you've got your head screwed on better than anyone else in this family right now."

"It's Mark," I told her. "He's the glue that's holding me together."

"Well, tell him he's doing a good job of it. We need someone in this family to hold it together right now."

I knew that all too well. The Bennet family has never been much for family-togetherness. Unlike the Williamson-Camden family, we don't have regular family dinners or go out of our ways to spend time together as a whole family. Jenna and I are close but we're not particularly close to the rest of our family. I envy Mark the family that his mother and stepfather have created. And if I told the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'd admit that I would love to join that family and be a part of their life. They were a family that held itself together, not like our family. They weren't as chaotic or confusing as we were.

* * *

"We're going to have to buy Lucas out now. And we need to hire more employees," I told Mark. We were sitting in the office after Pete left. My sister had called me from the police station where she was working on filing a missing person's report and discussing the possibility of filing kidnapping charges when Lucas and Lucy were found.

"Betsy, let me worry about the business for now and you can take care of your family," he replied.

I sighed. "It's my business."

"No," he said firmly. "It's our business. We own this together and we make decisions about it together."

I wasn't exactly sure why but there was something very comforting and protecting about the way he said that. In the middle of the storm created by Lucas and Lucy, I had a rock to hold on to. And that security was something I had always wanted. My family wasn't a secure place and that was just the way things were. But Mark was stable and normal and steady and willing to be all of those things for me. There was something so comforting about his presence in my life. He made me feel safe and secure. And that was something that I desperately needed during that time of my life.

Jamie came into the office just then. "I was thinking I should get the 'help wanted' sign out of the filing cabinet so we can replace Lucy."

I nodded and handed him the keys to the filing cabinet. Then I leaned back in my chair and put my hands over my face.

"It's okay to cry," Mark said.

I pulled my hands away from my face and shook my head. "I can't do that here."

"Then go home," Jamie said as he stood up with the "help wanted" sign in hand. "Mark, take her home. I can handle things around here for a while."

I looked at Mark who smiled reassuringly at me. "Fine, I'll go home."

* * *

"I need to be doing something," I told Mark as I sat on the couch reading _Lady Windermere's Fan_ out of a book of Oscar Wilde plays.

He smiled at me and ran a finger over my hand. "What do you want to do? You've talked to the private eye and to the police. What else can you do?"

"Go down to Mexico and find my sister myself?"

"No," he replied firmly. "You can do more by staying here than you can by going on a wild-goose chase."

I groaned. "Lucy is my sister and Lucas is, no he was my friend. And I want to help them. I just want to help them."

He quirked his right eyebrow up, as he often does, and shook his head. "Nope, you're staying here with me where I can make sure that you stay safe."

I rolled my eyes and he sighed. "Mark," I said slowly. "I'm not a passive person. I can't sit by and watch people get hurt or hurt themselves. And Lucy is my baby sister. While we're not close and I don't always agree with what she does, I love her. I have to help her. I have to protect her."

"Betsy," he said softly. "Do you remember the night I told you that I wanted to protect you?"

I nodded. That night had changed the way I looked at him and at myself. He was right; I looked after so many people but in my hour of need, who really came to my side? Mark and that was it. I had spent so much of my life-since childhood-protecting my sisters and my friends. But while all of those people seemed to love me and care for me, none of them were there for me when one of my best friends ran off to Mexico with my sixteen-year-old sister. Obviously, Lucas wouldn't be there. And I couldn't ask Carlye for help; Lucas was her brother and she was busy with her own life. Jenna was confused and overwhelmed by the situation we were in; she didn't have time or energy for my emotions.

"I mean that. And this is a situation in which I can protect you. I can help you find resources to aid in the search for Lucy. But I will not let you go to Mexico. You will stay here with me and I will help you. I'll do anything to keep you safe."

"You don't mean that. You can't."

"Why can't I?"

I sighed and ran a tired hand through my hair. "I'm Betsy Bennet and you're Mark Williamson. You can't care about me because I don't deserve you. I'm the girl from the messed-up family with the psycho teenaged sister who runs away with our business partner. And you're the really smart, handsome, funny, great guy who is just too good for me. I'm too screwed up for you."

"I'd really like to find out who did a number on you and give him a piece of my mind," Mark replied with a look of frustration on his face.

I shrugged. "When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me at least twice a week that I'm not as pretty as Jenna is and that she was more likely to get married than I was because I'm not that pretty or special."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"When we were kids, Mom used to rant and rave about how smart and pretty and wonderful Jenna was. And then she'd talk about how I wasn't that pretty or interesting and I'd be lucky if I ever got married because I was sassy and no one wants to marry a sassy woman."

"Your mother told you that you weren't pretty?"

"The night of my senior prom she told me that I was lucky that Lucas had pity on me and took me to prom because I still wasn't very pretty even with make-up and a fancy dress."

"I wish I knew how to show you how beautiful you really are."

I shrugged as I stood up. "I know what I am, Mark. You don't to worry about you."

"The hell I don't have to worry about you," he said, standing up and throwing the remote at the wall in the same instant. "Elizabeth Bennet, I want you to listen carefully to me for two minutes. I don't know why she did it but your mother lied to you. And a lot of other people have done the same thing. You have been lied to. You are not ugly or stupid or uninteresting. And if you are sassy, it's only in a good way. You're funny and sweet and kind and loving and you're real. You are a wonderful person. And you're gorgeous. You are amazing. And I want you. I want you in my life. I want you in my life forever. I want to see that quirky smile every day and hear you laugh while I'm grading papers and cook for you and drink your coffee and get annoyed by your hair on the drain. I want to find notes from you on the tea kettle and in my books. I want to smell your shampoo while I'm watching movies and accidentally use your toothbrush when I'm tired and I'm not wearing my contacts. I want you-quirks and all."

I slid down the doorframe to the floor. "But you can't."

"Why can't I?"

"Because my mom said that no one who was really wonderful could ever love someone as weird as me," she replied. "She told me once that Justin Collins was the only man alive who would ever take pity on me and marry me."

"Newsflash, Bets," he said, sitting down beside me. "She was wrong. I'm not taking pity on you. And I'm not ready to talk marriage yet. But I want to be there for you. And here's another newsflash for you. If we cut Lucas out of the business, then it can just be our business, Mark's and Betsy's. And I think that we can make that work even better if we're a couple rather than just friends."

"But my dad always told me to never mix business and pleasure."

"As a former English major, you should know that there is an exception to every rule," he replied. "And I'm yours and you're mine."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Positive," he replied. And then I slumped against his chest, exhausted but finally willing to let this wonderful man take care of me.

* * *

My sister and Lucas were found in Puerto Vallarta four days later; they weren't even smart enough to hide somewhere where other Americans wouldn't see them. And they were recognized by a colleague of Mark and my dad who was on sabbatical and visiting family who happened to live in Puerto Vallarta. Being aware of the situation due to an email sent out by another colleague at the university, Dr. Fitzpatrick contacted the FBI and then everything went down really fast. Everything that happened afterwards is still a blur. I know that I really erratic and turbulent sleep as well as a lot of nightmares of horrible things happening to my sister. And I know that my mom yelled at a lot of people-mostly me whenever I showed up at their house to help them out with anything they needed. Mark took me to the doctor the day before Lucy was brought home and I was diagnosed with some sort of stress-related sleep issues. Because I was now taking highly-addictive sleeping pills, Mark started sleeping in my bed to keep me from sleep-walking and to make sure that I went to bed right away so that I didn't do anything that I didn't and wouldn't remember.

My parents chose not to press charges against Lucas, calling it a "simple mistake; he had our permission to take her out of the country but no documentation thereof. And we forgot to tell our older daughters about it." Those were my father's words. The police didn't really buy it but there wasn't much they could do about it.

* * *

Mark, on the other hand, was able to use his personal wealth and contacts to force Lucas out of the Knit 'n' Lit. And it turned out that Lucas wasn't as reluctant to leave as we'd expected. "I was getting sick of it," he told us. "And I'm ready for something new in my life."

"Just stay away from my sisters when you're looking for something new," I told him.

He sighed. "Don't worry. Lucy isn't as interesting as I thought she would be. She whines a lot."

"Stay away from her," Mark said, cracking his knuckles. It had been three weeks since Lucy and Lucas's return and it was now mid-April. They'd come home around March 30 and it was now after Easter. Sebastian's planned Easter break visit had fallen through because of the stress that Mark and I were under at work. But we were rescheduling his visit for summer when at least Mark would probably be less busy.

Lucas looked at Mark. "You know Jamie used to tell me that I should be afraid of you. And I could never figure out why until now. You're a protector and a warrior. And that's not me. But I guess I'm the kind of guy who pisses those guys off. I'm sorry that I've hurt you. And Betsy, I'm sorry for what I've done to you. You're a good sort of girl and you don't deserve half of what you've been through with your family. But I hope that in spite of all of it, we can still be friends."

"Friends?" I repeated. "You want to be my friend after everything you did?"

"We've been friends through a lot worse before."

I glanced at Mark who was shooting a murderous glare at Lucas. If looks could kill, Lucas would be nothing but ash. I squeezed Mark's hand under the table and held it closely. "Lucas," I said slowly. "Just tell me one thing. Did you have sex with my sister?"

He looked at Mark's face and then mine before shrugging and nodding. "I don't see why it matters but yeah. She wasn't even that good of a lay."

"Get out," I said slowly and firmly, all the while squeezing the life out of Mark's hand. I could feel the blood pulsing in his body and see him clenching his teeth.

"As you wish," Lucas said in an almost mocking tone before leaving the room and shutting the door behind himself.

I looked at Mark and shook my head. "I just don't get it," I whispered. "Why did he do it?"

Mark took a deep breath and bit his lip. "Betsy, I know why but you won't like it at all."

"Tell me," I replied, crawling into his lap like a small child looking for a comforting bedtime story. But I would not be receiving a comforting story from this man.

"Right after they first got home, he came over to the apartment to apologize one evening. You were asleep and it was before Dr. Higgins prescribed your sleeping pills, so I didn't let him wake you up. But I did ask him why he did it. And he told me that he had been in love with you since seventh grade but you'd never noticed him like that. He saw Lucy as a younger version of you and a more impressionable one at that. He decided that if he couldn't have you, he'd take the next best thing."

"But she's so young!"

He nodded. "I know. And he knew. But he said that he thought that Jamie would steal you away from him forever and he wanted to get your attention. And then when it seemed like things were really developing between us, he knew he had to act or he would lose you to me forever."

"I like you more. I like you a lot more than I like him. And you're better for me."

He smiled. "I'm glad to see you growing up."

I laughed and ran a finger over his cheek. "You need to shave."

"I know. I keep forgetting."

"I'll remind you when we get home."

He rubbed his stubbly cheek against my smooth one and I laughed before kissing that stubbly cheek. I pressed my forehead against his and smiled. "I like you," I whispered against his cheek. "I like you a lot, Mark Williamson."

"Oh really?" he replied.

I nodded. "You're a really great guy. And you're an amazing friend. I really don't know how I got you in my life."

He smiled. "You're a very lucky girl, Betsy Bennet. And it's not just because you have me in your life. You have been blessed in many other ways beyond me."

I leaned my head against his and ran my hand over his head. "Mark, I'm scared. What will happen if I'm alone for the rest of my life?"

He kissed my cheek. "You won't be."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do," he replied with a knowing smile.

* * *

Three days later, on a Friday, Mark called me and told me to meet him in his office at four-thirty. So at four-thirty, I walked into his office only to find him there with Dr. Arthur Johnson. He was, according to Mark, the only professors in the English department that he could really stand. He had been my father's mentor when my dad was in graduate school and they had become close friends. Arthur and his wife, Ellie, were my godparents. When I was about five and he was about fifty-five, I spent a week at their house while my parents went on vacation. (My sisters were each staying with other family friends.) And immediately, we became close friends. Both of my grandfathers were out of the picture during my childhood, so Arthur became my honorary grandpa. Also, he looked like Christopher Plummer, which only made me love him more. He had been my Shakespeare professor in college and had been my advisor. He was almost eighty but he was regal and elegant and I loved talking to him. He was a very wise man-and an avid hockey fan, which Mark loved.

And now he was all in Mark's office. Was I early? Had he forgotten that he wanted me to be there? So I knocked on the doorframe and they both looked up. Arthur jumped to his feet and embraced me with a smile and kiss on the cheek. "Elizabeth, how are you, my dear?" he asked as he led me to the most comfortable chair in the room.

I smiled. "I'm doing well, Uncle Art. How are you?"

"I'm well," he said in his firm, gruff voice. "The two of us would like to talk to you."

"Art has a business proposal of sorts for us," Mark said with a smile as he stretched and yawned

"A business proposal?" I repeated. These were university professors. How on earth could they have a business proposal for me?

Arthur nodded. "Mark told me that you're looking to buy out Lucas's shares in the shop."

"That's correct. But we looked at our finances and agreed that we can afford to do that."

"He told me that too. But we have another idea for you, if you're interested."

"My ears are open," I replied.

They both smiled and my godfather spoke. "Ellie and I would be willing to buy out Lucas's shares and be silent partners in the shop. You'd never have to worry about us bothering you. And you wouldn't have to spend money that you don't have right now."

"I have the money, Arthur," I protested.

"Betsy," he said softly taking my hand in his. "I'm an old man and I'm your godfather. I'll leave you my share of the shop in my will anyway. But allow me to do this for you. Save your money for other things."

I smiled. "If you insist, I'll let you."

Mark smiled. Saving our money was not a bad thing and I liked Arthur and Ellie. Also, it made the shop more of a family business.

"Also, Mark says that you're looking for help in the shop and I'm pretty sure that Ellie could help you out a little bit. She's been complaining about being bored of late."

"And she does knit," I added.

"So you'll take her on?"

"Of course," Mark replied as I nodded.

"Perfect, I'll have my lawyer get in contact with your lawyers on Monday. And hopefully we can have this all sorted out by the first of May."

I smiled. "You're a godsend, Uncle Art."

"You're my favorite Bennet girl," he replied. "You're spunky but dependable. I think if my Gabrielle had lived, she would have been a great deal like you."

Gabrielle was Art's daughter who had died of leukemia twenty years before I was born at the age of four. And I knew that he considered me a surrogate daughter-not a replacement but another daughter who needed him.

"And you'll take good care of us, Uncle Art."

"Both of you," he said with a glance at Mark. "That boy has a good head on those broad shoulders but he needs a wife to steady him and manage him."

"Is that what Ellie does?" I asked.

"Actually yes," he replied. "That's what a good wife does for an absent-minded professor. Ellie and I, we're a modern version of Chesterton and his wife. She's always finding me when I'm lost."

"Mark rarely gets lost."

Mark laughed. "I can follow a map just fine but I do agree that I need someone to manage me."

"All men do," Art replied with the wisdom of a seventy-five year old man who had been married for over fifty years. "Now, if you'll excuse us Mark, I'm going to leave and take this lovely lassie with me. I need to bend her ear for a minute or two."

"Go right on ahead," Mark replied. "Betsy, I need to talk to Lea and Chris before I head out but I'll see you at home soon, yes?"

"And I'm making dinner tonight," I told him.

"I look forward to it," he said, kissing me on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, Art."

Art shook Mark's hand. "Think over that advice I gave you, young man. And I'll see you tomorrow at nine-thirty."

* * *

"Elizabeth," Art said as we began walking out of the building. "I don't mean to pry but I'm an old man and I'm your godfather, so you're going to listen to me."

"Oh dear," I said with a faked sigh.

He smiled. "I know why you think you can or shouldn't do so, but I want you to marry that young man. You two can manage each other magnificently and you're ideal for each other. He's loyal and solid and good. And you need those things in a man. Your father isn't and I'm not going to be around forever. So marry Mark; he'll sail you on good seas."

I smiled at him. "I like Mark."

"Then kick him out of that apartment you're in and allow him to court you properly."

I leaned my head against his shoulder as we walked and squeezed his hand. "But I need a roommate, Uncle Art. I can't afford to live there alone."

"Then kick yourself out of there and move in with Ellie and me. God knows we both rattle around that place too much. That house is big enough for six people but Henry and Suzanne rarely come by anymore."

"Our lease ends July 1."

"Your birthday, so you'll move in a few days earlier. And Mark can go live with Jamie. And then he can court you properly."

"You've arranged everything, haven't you?" I teased.

"You're my goddaughter, Bets. Henry and Suzanne have never given me grandchildren. I have to spoil you."

"You're wonderful, Art."

He shook his head. "Tosh, lassie, tosh; it's only because I love you and I want you to have the good things in life. And I don't want you dating Mark while living in the same house. It isn't proper. So indulge a cranky old man."

I kissed his cheek just as we reached my car. "You're the best godfather ever."

He opened my door and helped me into the car. "You deserve it, Betsy. And someone has to look after you."

And then he shut my car door.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I don't own what you recognize but I have some pretty fabulous reviewers out there and I love all of them.

_

* * *

So one day I was sitting around wondering how __Pride and Prejudice__ would be different if Mr. Bennet were a better father. That led me to thinking about how __Emma__ would be different if Mr. Woodhouse weren't so protective and cautious. And from there, I started to realize the role of fathers in Jane Austen's novels and I saw a long string of absent fathers or weak fathers. I looked at the role that my father and stepfather have played in my own life and from there I began to develop the ideas that would later become my doctoral thesis. I wanted to look at why Austen wrote men who were great heroes-such as Knightley and Brandon-but fathers who were such weaklings-such as Mr. Woodhouse. _

_And why did the lives of these wonderful men end with their marriages? Would they eventually become like Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Bennet? I cannot imagine Knightley becoming like his father-in-law but I suppose that that it is possible. How would Brandon or Bertram react to having five daughters? Would it have bothered them? But we don't know. We never get the opportunity to see these gentlemen as husbands and fathers. The only fathers we see are men who have very strong and very noticeable flaws. _

_-__Why Austen?__ By Mark F. Williamson_

* * *

**Chapter 18**

* * *

Things went surprisingly smoothly after that. Ellie started working ten days after Art suggested it. And our landlord actually had another tenant who wanted to take over my apartment after Mark and I moved out. But that's Ann Arbor for you; people are always looking for housing and they'll pay anything to get it. And our apartment was in a nice neighborhood and the rent was relatively decent-especially considering how nice the apartment was. Jamie didn't want Lucas around anymore and was more than glad to have Mark move in. I was going to miss living with Mark but at the same time, life could actually be normal if I lived with Art and Ellie. I wouldn't have to take care of anyone and I wouldn't trip over Mark's pile of Tolstoy books that he was mysteriously keeping by the bathroom door. Also, since I would have my own bathroom (for the first time in my life) I wouldn't have to worry about anyone else using my toothbrush. I cannot believe that Mark would accidentally confuse a purple toothbrush and a green toothbrush when he didn't have his contacts in. But I don't always understand Mark. And I put my contacts in before I brush my teeth.

One thing that Mark and I did agree about was how much we liked working with Ellie. She might have been seventy-two, but she was still kicking. And I loved her perspective. She was a wonderful help with both the knitting part of the shop and the book part. She would routinely scold customers who mentioned possibly getting something from Amazon. That was downright criminal in her book. "They're the enemy, the evil empire," she told one customer.

"But they're cheap," he protested. He was almost definitely a college student and I understood his penchant for cheap books.

"And they drive places like this one out of business," she replied. "And they don't have our customer service."

"Or our lattes," Jamie added as he handed the young man a latte.

The young man took a sip and smiled. "This is good."

"I should hope it's good. Betsy has been making lattes here since she was sixteen. There are nine years of experience in that cup," Jamie replied.

I laughed as I made another latte for another customer as the young man said, "This might just be better than Starbucks."

"That's my goal," I told him.

Jamie laughed. "Betsy is devoted to the triumph of the small business over the corporate giants."

"I do like that their name comes from Moby Dick. I give them major props for creativity," I explained. "But I really do believe in the merits of small businesses."

"And Starbucks doesn't sell yarn or books," the young man said.

I smiled. "This place caters to my passions-the fiber arts, books, and tea and coffee."

"A girl after my own heart," Ellie said with a sigh.

I laughed. "Ellie, who was it that taught me how to make coffee?"

"And I mentored your love of knitting after your grandmother passed away."

"And you taught me to crochet," I added.

"She sounds like a good friend," the woman who was waiting for the mocha I was making said. This woman was a regular customer named Susan. She loved to knit and read; she was about my mother's age and I really liked her visits and I loved her passion for knitting.

"Susan, this is Ellie," I said. "She's going to be working here now. She's replacing Lucy and I think she'll be a great addition around here."

"She is a great addition," Jamie said. "She knows where everything is and she's only been here two weeks. I don't think Mercy or Hannah could say that after two weeks."

I smiled. "Basically, we all love Ellie and think she's fabulous. And she's been knitting for a long time, so if you have any questions, she probably knows an answer."

"I don't know everything," Ellie said as she pulled a copy of Jasper Fforde's newest book Shades of Grey off of a shelf and handed it to Jamie.

"Sure you do," he replied. "Why else would Betsy love you so much?"

* * *

In mid-May, Mark's old friend, Rich, and his wife, Angie, and son, Matthew, came to visit him. They'd been living in Grand Rapids for the past few years and saw Mark about once a month but that was usually when he went to see them rather than them coming to us. Therefore, it was the first time that I'd met them. But I liked them instinctively. They were both friendly and Matthew (now ten-months-old) was a darling little guy with soft blonde hair and bright blue eyes. And Mark and Matthew mutually adored each other. Mark, I realized during the three days the Pattersons were in town, was born to be a father. He loved young children and they loved him.

Saturday morning, I was working when Mark came in with Matthew in a stroller. "What did you do with his parents?" I asked.

He laughed. "We lost them."

"Why don't I think that Matthew will enjoy that arrangement long term?" I asked, lifting the little guy up out of his stroller.

"Probably because I don't have the diaper bag," Mark replied. "And I don't like changing diapers. No thank you; someone else can do that."

"Would you feel differently if it were your own child?"

"Probably but he's not my kid, just my godson, and I'll hand him off to other people for changing if he needs it," he said.

I bounced the little guy on my hip and smiled as he giggled and grabbed for one of my curls. "I think you're good for a while, don't you, Matt?"

He grinned and pulled on the curl. Mark laughed. "I think he likes you."

"Or at least he likes my hair."

"You do have a beautiful hair," Mercy said as she walked by us. "I'd kill for your hair."

"Millions of girls would kill for your hair," Hannah agreed. Both she and Mercy had straight hair and had previously expressed their jealously of my curls.

"I know," I told them. "But personally I find them frustrating."

"At least you're not a guy with curly hair," Mark interjected, running a hand over his stubbly head.

"You have curly hair?" Mercy asked him.

"Naturally yes," he replied. "But I shaved my head back in February and have been keeping my hair short since then. Thick, curly hair is really frustrating if you're a guy."

"Do your sisters have thick, curly hair too?" Hannah asked.

He shook his head. "Jules has thick hair but she got my dad's hair while I got Mom's. And my stepsisters all have straight hair. I'm the only lucky one."

"Do you have any brothers with curly hair?" Mercy asked. I knew that she was thinking of a brother in his early twenties whom she could marry.

"I do," he replied. "But he's nine."

I had forgotten how cute Sebastian's curls were. "He's a cute little guy," I added suddenly.

"But he's too young for us," Mercy said with a downcast face.

Just then, Rich and Angie came in and Matthew wanted to go to his mother, so I readily handed him over. He needed a diaper change anyway and I wasn't about to change the diaper of a baby I'd only met the day before. My own children would be another story but Matthew was not my baby.

"Was he good for you, Mark?" Rich asked as his wife took their son off to the bathroom.

Mark nodded. "He tried to eat Betsy's curls but other than that, he was fine."

"He likes hair and earrings and anything else that dangles really," Rich told me. "He'll grab jewelry and ears and anything. He's a hands-on kind of guy."

"Just like his father," Mark muttered.

"Watch your mouth, Williamson. I know secrets from your past too. I could tell Betsy about your ex-girlfriend."

"You're going to drag up ancient history like that? Dude, Clinton was president when Rachael and I were together."

"I could still tell stories."

I looked at him. "What do you know and how much do you charge for information?"

"It depends on the information," he replied. "The more interesting stuff is more expensive."

"I just want to know who Rachael is."

"My ex-girlfriend," Mark answered. "We didn't part under the best circumstances. But it's been about nine years since our relationship ended. And I've grown up since then."

"Yeah, he doesn't dump girls by email anymore," Mark said.

"You broke up with her by email?" I asked.

"I was twenty-two and I was moving to England. I didn't know how to tell her that I couldn't make a long-distance relationship work."

"So you emailed her? You were pathetic."

"Nine years ago, yes, I was," he replied. "But I haven't done anything like that since then. Knowing Kevin has forced me to grow up."

"Yeah, and you haven't date anyone seriously since you dated Rachael."

"I haven't met anyone really special in a long time," Mark protested. "For crying out loud, I had Emily tailing me everywhere I went. And now I meet a nice girl that I actually like and you sit around telling her about how I once dumped a girl via email. What you didn't tell her was that I was in England when I did it. I couldn't afford to call her and we weren't going to see each other for three months. It was the easiest way to do it."

"The easiest way isn't always the best way," I replied.

"I was twenty-two. It was nine years ago. I was young and dumb."

"Is he telling you about Rachael?" Angie asked as she emerged from the bathroom.

"How did you guess?" I asked.

"Young and dumb," she replied. "That's that relationship in a nutshell. They were both young and dumb. And they weren't right for each other. He shouldn't have broken up with her by email and he probably shouldn't have gone on a date with another girl before hearing back from her. But then she probably shouldn't have started dating someone else the day after he left for England, which was four weeks before he broke up with her."

"You never told me that she was cheating on me!" Mark exclaimed.

"You didn't need to know," Rich replied. "You were going to dump her anyway. Why did you need to know that she was cheating on you?"

"All these years I've felt like a louse for dumping her like that. I felt like a total asshole and I've tried to make it up to other girls since then. I was nice to Emily in an effort to make it up to the universe! And now I find out that she was cheating on me and my best friend never told me."

"Yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds pretty bad," Rich said grimly. "All right, I apologize. I should have told you but I didn't want you to get hurt and I figured you'd dump her anyway for other reasons."

"That doesn't justify lying to me," Mark protested. Mark's eyes were turning gray and that is not a good sign. Gray means angry and angry means that he raises his voice. And then it all gets blown out of proportion. So I suggested that we go to the Jerusalem Garden for lunch and not talk about the past anymore. The suggestion passed by an overwhelming majority and Rich, Angie, and Mark went on ahead with the baby while I waited another fifteen minutes for Jamie to come downstairs and take over as manager until two o'clock when my two-hour "lunch and socializing special occasion break," as Jamie called it, ended. Then I had to work until five when I was having dinner with Mark and his friends.

* * *

That evening after dinner, Mark and I found ourselves in my bedroom doing laundry. "I'm not going to miss this," I told him. "I'm really not going to miss the fact that the washing machine and dryer are in my bedroom."

"I will," he replied. "I'm going to have to go to a Laundromat when we move."

"If you ask Art nicely, I'd bet that he and Ellie will let you come over and do laundry at their house. If you're really smart and ask Ellie first, she'll probably let you come over and dinnertime and she'll feed you during the spin cycle."

He smiled. "I'd like that. I like Art and Ellie. You were lucky to know them growing up."

"I know. They were great counter-influences to my parents. And I don't think I'd be who I am today if it weren't for them."

"I agree with that," he said. "I see a lot of Ellie in you."

"I've been told I have her eyes," I joked.

Mark laughed. "I'm sorry, Betsy, but you do look somewhat like your biological parents."

"And you bear a vague resemblance to your father."

Mark's dad is a sore spot with him and this statement is somewhat of a low blow. And the immediate grimace on his face warns me to shut my trap. But thankfully, he quickly recovers by saying "I may have his build and that's fine. But I have my mother's hair, eyes, and nose. I might have my dad's ears but no one really notices that. And I definitely have my mom's dad's chin. Supposedly, I look just like him, but taller and broader. An the tall and broad comes from my dad's family although you probably don't see the resemblance so much anymore."

"I supposedly look like my Grandma Bennet."

"Is she the one who taught you to knit?"

I nodded. "I'm a lot like her, according to my dad."

"She must have been pretty."

"I think she was."

"Then I'm sure she was," he said in a voice that told me that he really meant what he was saying.

Out of the blue, a thought flew into my head and I blurted it out like the idiot that I am. "Did I ever tell you that when I was a kid and I misbehaved, my mom used to make a martini for herself before she disciplined me?"

He laughed. "Are you serious? Please tell me you aren't."

"She said that without alcohol she would have killed me."

"Charming," he replied. "When I misbehaved, Mom just pulled the old spoon out of the drawer and spanked me. There were no death threats or alcohol involved."

"I'm jealous of your childhood. I got spanked too but it was only after alcohol for Mommy," I sighed, flopping back onto his chest.

"There was still alcohol involved in it," he replied, wrapping his arms around me. "My dad is an alcoholic after all. And then there was my parents' divorce."

"Okay, I'm revoking my statement of jealousy. But I love your mom and Robert. Do you think they'd want to adopt me?"

"You're twenty-five, Betsy. You're a bit old to be adopted."

"But I like them," I sighed.

He laughed. "And they like you too. But I don't think they'll adopt you. However, if you're good, they might consider you as a potential future daughter-in-law."

I looked up at him. "You're not supposed to propose marriage just yet."

"I know. Art told me."

"Oh dear," I sighed. "I'm not sure I want to know everything that Art's told you."

"Hey, after what Rich has been telling you this week, I deserve to get some dirt on you too."

I laughed. "You know me, Mark. You work with my father. Surely there can't be anything else you can learn about me."

"I know things you might not know yet," he replied.

I rolled off his chest and rested my head on my fists, looking up at him. "Is it interesting?"

"Would I tell you if it wasn't?"

"Does it involve someone that I know?"

"It involves someone who should have told you before they told me but they didn't."

"Is Jenna pregnant?"

He laughed. "You're a dear. But no, she's not. At least, she hasn't told me if she is."

"Then what is it?"

"Keep your shirt on. I got an email today saying that your dad is staying on as a professor at the university but he's stepping down as department chair."

"Lucy's pregnant."

"Is that conjecture or a weird leap in logic that I don't understand because I'm not a Bennet?"

I shook my head. "No, my parents told me when I was over at their house for dinner on Wednesday."

"Is Lucas the father?"

I nodded and Mark grimaced.

"What will happen to the baby?"

"My parents will take it probably. That's the current plan at least."

Another grimace clouded that handsome face. "You don't like that idea, do you?"

"Hell no," I replied, three days of anger spilling out with every word. "I think it's a shit idea. My mother was bad enough the first time around; she'll be even worse this time around."

"That's not guaranteed but you're probably right." Mark looked at me with a slight smile on his face. "You have another idea, don't you?"

I nodded. "I want to adopt the baby."

He smiled. "I'm not at all surprised. When is she due?"

"December," I replied. "I think the first or the second."

Mark ran a finger down the bare skin of my arm and pressed his lips together.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him. I was concerned. We weren't really dating yet and I was telling him that I wanted to adopt a baby. That could scare him off for good.

"I'm not sure that this is a good idea for you, Betsy. You work full-time. You're not married. You'll be living with Art and Ellie. You're not the type to throw her kid in day care. So who will take care of this kid?"

"I've got seven months to figure that out," I told him. "And I want to help my sister out. And I don't think that my parents would be very good at raising this child."

"I know but would you be any better?"

"Of course I would! I'd need help but you know that they say it takes a village to raise a child."

"But who would be your village?"

I sighed and sat up. "Well, I had thought that you would be part of it but I don't want to assume anything. But Jenna will help me; she's already told me that. And Jamie will probably help. And Art and Ellie will help where they can."

He looked at me seriously and ran his hand over his head. "Betsy, I just don't want you to do anything that you're going to regret later."

"I know that. But I really want to do this."

He nodded. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Mark, life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something. I've been hurt a lot in my life but it hasn't killed me. It's made me stronger. And you can't protect me from everything. You have to let me face the real world sometimes. And I will get hurt; it's part of life. But I know this. This baby is my niece or nephew. I want this kid to have all the best things that life can offer him or her. And I do not think that my parents or Lucy can offer this child that. But I believe that I can do that. And I want to do that. Do you understand?"

He nodded and smiled. "I do. I think you're a lot like my mom. What you want to do for Lucy's kid, that's similar to what she did with Violet, Scarlett, and Iris. She didn't have to pour herself out for them like she did but she did it. She wanted them to have a stable home and she's really given that to them. And they love her and trust her so much. She hasn't replaced their mom but she's definitely filled emptiness in their lives. I think that's what you want for this baby. When my mom and Robert got married and they created their new family together, it was like something in Mom was completed. It wasn't like Jules and I weren't enough for her, but she lost something with my dad. His alcoholism and the divorce ate away at her. But Robert and his girls and then Sebastian, they filled her."

"I don't know if it's quite the same thing," I told him. "I've always wanted to be a mom."

"You'll get married and have kids of your own someday."

"I know that. But it doesn't have to be either/or here. I can adopt this baby and marry a great guy and have more children with him. We can be a mixed family. You're a testament to the idea of a mixed family. You have a great one. And I hope that I can do the same if I get this baby."

For the first time in the conversation, I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. I think that he understood that I wanted to do what was best for everyone in my life. For me, that meant adopting my niece or nephew if my parents and sister let me do that.

"I'm going to try to support you as much as I can," he told me. "But I know that this is going to be hard for you. And I don't like seeing you get hurt; you know that. Art told me that he thinks I'm one of the good guys and he wants me to keep an eye on you. But I also know that you want to protect yourself. And right now, I'm a little unsure of my role in your life."

"Friendship," I replied. "Mark, you're my friend. And you're a great friend. I need you to keep being that same great friend. I really do. I know you want more but we're not doing that while we live together."

"I love how you listen to everything Art says."

"He's my grandpa. Both of mine died before I was born."

Mark smiled and ran his fingers through my hair. "Can we just stay here forever?"

"Art wouldn't like it," I replied with a teasing smile. "And we need to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer."

"It's your turn."

"You're just afraid of my bras."

He laughed. "I have four sisters."

"That doesn't mean you're not afraid," I replied as I jumped off the bed to move the laundry.

He shook his head. "I'm not going to prove to you that I'm not afraid."

"That would be because you are afraid."

"Betsy, you're ridiculous."

"And everything is in the dryer except the things that need to line dry in the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute or two," I told him as I left the room carrying a laundry basket.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I don't own the obvious. And I really do appreciate my reviewers.

_

* * *

I really wonder what people in the twenty-first century would think of Mr. Knightley or Mr. Darcy if they met one of these literary heroes on the street. I think we would find them old-fashioned and I'm not sure that we would like them. I'm pretty sure that they would offend a lot of the feminists that I know. Gender roles have changed considerably since the early nineteenth century. And women don't appreciate chivalry in the same way that they once did. I'm not saying that this is good or bad. But I think that modern women might not like Mr. Knightley or Mr. Darcy as much as they might think they would. They might find Darcy's pride offensive. And my currently twenty-five-year-old girlfriend told me once that she would never even entertain the idea of dating/marrying a man who was a) sixteen years older than her AND b) had known her since she was a baby. As she says, "Things were different during the Regency era. But this is the early twenty-first century-almost two hundred years after Austen's death. Now, most people would think that Mr. Knightley was a pervert." I'm not sure that everyone would agree with her but she has a valid point when she says that things have changed a great deal in the past two hundred years. _

_-"Change Born of Time," an October 19, 2010 blog post from "Literary World Views" by Mark F. Williamson_

* * *

I didn't get Lucy's baby. No one did. Lucy miscarried in mid-June and it was an almost blessing. As sad as we were, my sister was not ready to be a mother. But I had wanted that baby. I wanted to be a mother. And that realization gave me a kick in the pants that I may never have gotten. I had to move out of the apartment so that I could start dating Mark. I couldn't date him while we lived together; that wasn't right in my book. Call me old-fashioned; act like Ilse from Emily of New Moon and call me "Victorian." That's fine with me; maybe I am a bit Victorian. I did spent twelve years in Catholic schools. They affected the way I think and act even if you won't find me darkening the door of a church except on Christmas and Easter.

And I know that I am old-fashioned. Judge me if you will. But I refuse to start dating a guy while I'm living with him. I don't care what other people think of me. I'm Betsy Bennet and I'll do what I want. And if that pushes Mark away, that's unfortunate but I am allowed to make my own mistakes.

People don't realize how busy I was that summer. I went to Squam, a crafting conference in New Hampshire, during the first weekend of June. That was beautiful and wonderful and I came back with lots of new ideas and patterns and yarns and a new cold. And then the next weekend, I went to Columbus, Ohio (home of the Evil Empire, the Ohio State University) for the National Needle Arts Association's summer market. It was really good for me but a lot of traveling. And in September, I was going to the fall market in St. Louis. And then, I was going to Rhinebeck, New York for their knitting festival in October. I had to fit my family, my work, and my friends in the middle of my knitting life. People forget that I am first and foremost a knitter. It is my career and my calling. And I am willing to let other things slip by for the success of my shop. But I think that is difficult for others to understand. I am a knitter; take it or leave it.

* * *

But I moved into Art and Ellie's house at the end of June. June was a chaotic month and I barely saw Mark because we were both so busy with work and traveling. And he was writing a book-a biography of Leo Tolstoy; he was at the library most of the time and didn't have as much time for socializing. I missed our late night talks and I would miss drinking his coffee. But I'd still have his friendship. And the second week of July, he finally asked me out on a real date. It was the first Friday night when I wasn't working or traveling or being my mother's latest way of keeping Lucy calm. The miscarriage had upset my sister and changed her greatly. My mother wanted her to do things like go see _Eclipse_ and have mother-daughter spa dates but Lucy wanted to go for long walks and actually talk about what she was going through. She had lost some of her silliness and naïveté when she lost the baby. She told me why she did what she did with Lucas and while it didn't make sense to me entirely, I could understand why she had done it. She was looking for attention and Lucas definitely gave her attention.

For the first time in my life, I realize that my younger siblings didn't get much attention from our parents and so I set out to give Lucy some of the attention that she craved in life. I taught her to knit and went for walks with her. And something between us changed. Things became better between us. For the first time in seventeen years, I had a real relationship with my youngest sister. I had no clue as yet what it was Cam and Mae wanted or needed. But I wanted to know. I wanted to help my sisters.

* * *

This was admirable according to Mark who wanted to strangle varied members of his own family. His father and stepmother were forcing his half-brother (George Wick-McMahon, son of his father and an ex-mistress) to marry his stepsister (Annalisa Devereaux, his stepmother's daughter from her first marriage) to "solidify family ties."

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?" he asked me as he read it from his dad's email one Tuesday in early July. We were sitting in the office after one of my shifts and at the beginning of one of his.

"It's a business deal instead of a marriage?"

"Yeah, it's a business deal that requires me to buy a white suit that'll make me look like Colonel Sanders and stand up next to my asshole of a half-brother in a botanical gardens while he promises to put up with my hypochondriac stepsister until death or the State of Minnesota divorce courts part them."

I smiled sympathetically. "Hey, you still get to take me out for dinner on Friday night. And we won't have to talk about this at all."

"Good," he sighed, running a hand over his stubbly head. "I can't believe I finally got you to go on a date with me."

"I can't believe that seven months ago I hated your guts. We've come so far in the past seven months."

"You hated me? I knew you didn't like me but you hated me."

I laughed. "I did. I was stupid. And I was offended when you called me a hippie artist chick at that party at my parents' house last fall."

"I used to be a dumbass," he said with a smile.

"You used to be or you kind of still are?"

"If I weren't a gentleman, I'd punch you. But I would never punch a woman."

"You're ridiculous."

"It would be a playful punch," Mark teased. "I'm very good at playful punches. Remember that I spend time with my sisters. I'm great at playful fighting."

"You want me to be your girlfriend but you want to treat me the way you treat your sisters."

"I don't treat Annalisa like this."

"And we're back to Annalisa," I said grimly.

"We could talk about the weather if you'd rather," he said with a smile.

"God, the heat is fucking unbearable," I replied.

"It'll get better soon."

"Yeah, I'd like that to be before the art fair in a couple of weeks."

"Cross your fingers," Mark replied. "I've never been to the art fair before and I'd like to enjoy them this year."

"The weather is usually great during the art fair except for the one required rainy day. And we have a sidewalk sale and it's great. And I wear flip-flops to work."

"You just want an excuse to wear flip-flops to work, don't you?"

I smiled. "I like flip-flops."

"You like painting your toes. Now go home before Ellie sends out a search party looking for you."

I laughed. "I can't believe that she really calls you when I'm not home by dinnertime."

"She's only done it twice. And you had told her that you would be home by five-thirty. It was six o'clock and dinner was getting cold," Mark replied with a teasing smile.

"We had pasta salad for dinner that night," I replied flatly.

He grinned. "Just go home and eat dinner. I'll see you later. And dress nicely on Friday; we're going someplace nice for dinner."

"Does that mean I can't wear flip-flops?"

"Wear nice sandals, please."

I smiled as I stood up and picked up my bag. "I'll be Audrey Hepburn for you, darling."

* * *

Mark and I had given ourselves Friday evening free. He worked from opening to eleven, I worked eleven to five, and Jamie worked from five to close. He told u that he hoped everything worked out on our date and in our relationship in general but he hadn't decided yet if he was going to call us "Bark" or "Metsy" in our "official cutesy couple nickname." Mark suggested calling us "Mark-and-Betsy," which Jamie dismissed as "boring and unoriginal."

* * *

But regardless, I got home at five-twenty and went upstairs to shower and change. I impulsively decided to straighten my hair even though I know that Mark loves my curls. But I didn't love them at the moment and so they became straight. Then I tied an ivory-colored ribbon in my hair as a headband and put on my apple-green spaghetti-strapped sundress that I'd made the previous summer. I added a knitted ivory bolero and my ivory sandals to complete the look. Then I went downstairs to get Art and Ellie's approval. Naturally, Mark was already there. I'm pretty sure that he minored in punctuality in college.

"Your purse doesn't match the rest of the outfit," Art commented as soon as I entered the room.

My purse was a black-and-white patterned Vera Bradley bag. I couldn't believe that I really owned it but it was spacious and beautiful and I liked it-even if I had bought it at Barnes and Noble. And I don't even like that store. It's a big-box store, it's the competition, and it's just wrong for me to shop there. But I wanted the bag.

"I don't have a green purse or a white purse," I told my godfather. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. "You look lovely, Betsy."

"Absolutely stunning," Mark said with a smile as he took my hand. "And I promise I'll have her home at a reasonable hour."

Art laughed. "I'm not worried, Mark. I know where to find you."

Mark smiled. "I'll take good care of her, sir. We'll see you later."

"Have a good evening," Ellie told us both.

* * *

The really great thing about dating someone you know already is that you can skip the exchange of personal histories and details that can make first dates so awkward. I wasn't surprised to see that Mark owned a black 2010 Ford Escape that he'd bought at Butman Ford in Ypsilanti. And I wasn't surprised when he turned it on and the most recent Rodrigo y Gabriela album came over the speakers.

"Before we really get going with the whole date thing," he began. "Art told me that as of this afternoon, Chris White has been formally offered the position of head of the English department and he has accepted it."

"Chris White," I said, repeating the name of my college advisor. "He's an amazing choice. He's such a great guy."

"I thought you'd like that. And your dad approved of Chris."

"Even though they don't really get along," I said with a smile.

"I've never really understood that one," he replied.

I laughed. "It's a personality clash and a difference in thinking. Chris is far more interested in educating others while my dad is far more interested in scholarly research. My dad lives in the clouds and Chris lives in the real world with real people. And that's a verbatim quotation from an argument I overheard a couple of years ago."

Mark smiled. "That makes sense."

"You know," I said with a smile. "I think that Martha will host better parties than my mom did."

"Betsy! Be kind. She is your mother after all."

"I love her. She is a good person but she drives me nuts."

"She means well."

"She wanted us to get married when we lived together and told us that every time she came to the apartment."

He shrugged. "Maybe she wasn't comfortable with the idea of premarital cohabitation regardless of whether or not we were romantically involved."

I snorted. "Nina Bennet was uncomfortable with-ha! Never, she wanted to live with my dad before they were married but her parents wouldn't let her."

He smiled. "Our mothers are so different."

"I love your mom. She's absolutely wonderful."

"Surely we can talk about more than our mothers on a date," he said suddenly. "We can talk about our interests and our likes and dislikes."

"Have you been watching _Enchanted_ again?"

He shook his head. "God save us all, no; but when I told Jules that I was taking you on a date tonight she started quoting it."

"But you hate that movie."

"My sisters still forced me to watch it."

I smiled. "You poor baby, I promise you I'll never be so cruel to you."

Mark laughed. "You're so sweet. And I won't force you to watch too many James Bond movies."

"I didn't know that you liked Bond that much. I thought you hadn't even ever seen _Quantum of Solace_."

"I haven't," he replied. "But I love the older ones. I'm not a big fan of Daniel Craig but I liked Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan."

As he said that, he pulled onto the freeway and I looked at him. "Where are we going?"

He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises. You know that. "

"Do you really want to ruin the surprise?"

I nodded. "Where are you taking me?"

"Downtown Plymouth," he replied. "We're always in Ann Arbor. I wanted to do something different and fun."

"I like different and fun."

"But not surprises," he teases with a glint in his hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mark. But please just tell me we're not going to Five. I hate their logo." Their logo is their name with a "5" taking the place of the letter "f." It's supposed to be classy but I find it cheesy.

He laughed. "I knew you wouldn't like that place. I just knew it when I saw their logo. But we're going to pick where we're going when we get there. I was going to pick for you but then I figured it might be more fun to just park the car and walk. And then I thought that you might end up picking Panera. But then I decided that I was okay with that."

"I like Panera. In fact, I love Panera. I do not love their new iced coffee but I'll live and they'll live."

"Betsy, the only coffee you like is what you brew at home and the stuff you brew in the shop."

"Not true," I protested. "I like the coffee that Art brews."

He shook his head and smiled. Have I mentioned lately that I love his smile? I do; it's charming and perfect. "But you don't like corporate coffee."

"Nope," I replied with a smile. "I can taste the lawyers and bureaucracy in every sip."

He laughed. "You're ridiculous, Bets. You crack me up."

"That's my goal in life."

* * *

We ate dinner at Panera and then wandered around downtown Plymouth. It's a cute area and it was fun to explore it with Mark. We talked about so many things and I realized that he really was The One. This man listened to me attentively and asked questions about things that I liked even if he wasn't personally interested in them. He cared about what mattered to me. He made me feel important and special. And he liked me. He liked me! I liked a boy and he liked me back! Okay, so Mark was thirty-one and hardly a "boy" anymore. But that didn't matter. He liked me! He wanted to be with me for me.

After getting a beer and some dessert, we drove home. Mark looked at me as we drove. "You're awfully quiet right now. Tell me what you're thinking."

I shook my head. "I don't know. I'm tired. I had a good time tonight but I'm tired and I have to take Jenna to the airport in the morning."

"So she's going to see Kevin in England?" he asked.

I nodded. "She'll be gone for two weeks. Do you think Kevin will be back in Ann Arbor in the fall like he thought he might?"

Mark shook his head. "Chris White won't let him back. That's not his way of doing things. But apparently, he's looking at other universities around here that might want him."

"Do you know where he's applying?"

"Notre Dame and Michigan State for sure," he replied. "I think he applied at Hillsdale but I'm not entirely sure I can see him working there."

I shook my head. "He's not a Hillsdale type at all. I could see him at State though. I'm not sure how I feel about him at Notre Dame."

"We all know you hate Notre Dame just because of football."

I laughed. "You two will learn to hate them. It will just take time. It's a purely natural part of loving Michigan football."

"They haven't given me much to love in the time that I've lived here. I still prefer Minnesota."

I sighed. "I know that they haven't been good the past two or three years but they will get better. I promise. And you will fall in love with them and understand my devotion to them."

Mark laughed. "I grew on Minnesota football."

"Wolverines are always better than and greater than gophers. A wolverine could eat a gopher for a mid-afternoon snack and still be hungry."

"You are ridiculous, Betsy."

"And proud of it," I replied with a smile.

* * *

He kissed me on the cheek when we reached the front door of Art and Ellie's house, my house now. And I was surprised to know that I was okay with that. I was also surprised to realize that I missed the sandpapery feel of his stubble on my cheek. I ran my hand over his fuzzy head and he laughed. "Would you mind terribly if I started letting my hair grow back?" he asked as I continued to stroke his fuzzy head.

"I'll miss this," I replied.

"You can run your fingers through my luscious curls," he replied, stroking my own curls.

I leaned my head against his cheek and sighed. "But I like your fuzz."

"My head got really cold in the winter."

"I'll make you hats."

He smiled. "And I'll wear them every day. But I could wear them over my curls too."

"Do you promise that if I think that you're getting ugly, you'll shave your head again?"

Mark laughed and kissed my nose. "You are supremely wonderful, Elizabeth Bennet. And yes, if you don't like them, the curls will go."

"Then you can grow them back on a trial basis."

He smiled before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me up against his chest. I looked up into his gray eyes and smiled before he kissed me. It was short but wonderful. And as someone who hadn't been really kissed in over six months, it was not something I wanted to end. But this was Mark. And Mark was old-fashioned. So I settled for pressing our foreheads together and holding each other. He kissed me on the nose again and that was it.

"Good night, Bets," he whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow. And we should do this again very soon."

"I agree," I said as I unlocked the front door. "And I'll see you at the shop tomorrow after I'm done at the airport."

He smiled. "It won't be that bad."

"You've never taken Jenna to the airport. She's scared of flying and she always starts crying in the car and it's kind of scary because I wonder if I really should leave her at the airport. International flights really freak her out. And tomorrow she'll be even worse because Kevin is on the other end of this flight."

"I could go with you if you want."

"No," I said. "She'll be freaking out and scared and nervous and you don't need to see that. I'll see you when I get to the shop and want an Irish cream mocha to soothe my nerves."

"And maybe I'll sneak in some real Irish cream to make you feel better."

"You're wonderful," I said. "See you tomorrow."

He kissed my cheek again and I went into the house and he went back to his car.

* * *

I went upstairs to my room and wished that there was someone I could call to tell them about my date. But Jenna wouldn't be able to concentrate with all of her thoughts of England and Kevin. Carlye would be asleep; ever since pregnancy and marriage, she'd started going to bed at nine-thirty promptly. And Mark wouldn't be very interested in listening to my girly gushing about a date I'd just had-even if it was a date with him. He probably didn't want to hear me say "He kissed me! He kissed me!" ninety-five times. So I sent Carlye a text message asking for a phone date in the near future and went to bed.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I know that my updates are rare but I am working full-time and knitting and all of that keeps me away from my computer and doesn't offer me as much time to update as you might like.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I don't own the obvious. And you, my lovely reviewers, are all wonderful. Thank you for your time.

_

* * *

I like tea. I'm a bigger fan of coffee but I enjoy a mug of tea every now and then. I really enjoy English breakfast tea with my breakfast. I'm thinking about this as I watch BBC America with my girlfriend; she's laughing at me for blogging and watching _Doctor Who_. I just saw (and heard) "The following program contains accents you would have heard a lot more often if you hadn't thrown all our tea in Boston Harbor. To find out what on earth anyone is talking about, please use closed captioning." This enjoyment of tea and my ability to understand British accent are linked. I lived in England for seven years while doing my postgraduate work. I've learned to love tea, English accents, and the general idea of a queen. I also learned to love Queen-you know the band that Freddie Mercury was in. I did not learn to love-or even like a little bit-the Spice Girls. Something about "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want" just will never appeal to me. _

_But I like the English. And I like tea. Tea reminds me of my mom and warmth and comfort as well as the time that I spent in England. My mother is not English. But she loves tea. And I can think of numerous situations in my life when she has comforted me-or someone else in her life a cup of tea as a way to comfort them. C.S. Lewis once said that "You can never get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to please me." I think that Jack Lewis and I agree on that. I like coffee more. But on a rainy day, give me a large mug of tea and a long book and I'll be as happy as a clam. _

_-"Tea," a December 19, 2010 post on "Literary World Views," Mark F. Williamson's blog_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty**

* * *

The week of the Ann Arbor Art Fair dawned as hot and as humid as hell. And I don't mean Hell, Michigan although I'm sure that it was just as hot there was it was in Ann Arbor-considering that the two cities are only about half an hour apart. But it was miserable. I was wearing sundresses constantly and blasting the air-conditioning both at home and at work. And the heat made me tired and crabby. The general idea of the art fair made Jamie crabby; he'd never really liked the art fair because it made parking in Ann Arbor impossible and the downtown area became absolutely chaotic. Mark found the heat unbearable but he was more intrigued by the art fair than we lifelong Ann Arborites were. He'd never seen it before and he was curious. I was also curious about the fair but I was also focused on what the four days would mean for my business.

* * *

On Tuesday of that week, I came into the shop to find Lucy looking at various yarns. My sister was fingering various brown yarns. "What do you want to make?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I've been waiting for you so I could ask your opinion. I liked making that scarf you showed me how to make. Maybe I could make another one and you could teach me how to purl."

I smiled. "I love that idea. But the purling lessons will have to wait until after the art fair. Life is going to be pretty crazy around here until Saturday evening."

"Mark said you have to be here at like eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

I nodded. "It's not the worst thing I've ever done but it's up there. I hate early mornings."

My youngest sister smiled. "Same here, I can't stand being awake before noon."

"It's only eleven, gorgeous," I replied as I fingered a skein of holly red Peruvian wool. It was a great color and I wanted to make myself something out of it.

"I know," she replied. "Dad had a meeting with Dr. White at eleven-thirty, so he said he could drop me off here on his way in and pick me up on his way home. So I gulped down some coffee and took a hot shower and here I am, trying to be awake."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned my head against hers; she was eight years younger than me and four inches taller than me-without the two-inch heels she was wearing. "I know the feeling. Do you want another cup of coffee?"

"Is it free?"

"Is the sky blue?"I replied.

Lucy laughed. "That sounds amazing."

Mark was standing behind the counter wearing a dark blue apron over his clothes. His family was arriving for a long-awaited visit to Ann Arbor that afternoon and he was going to meet them at their hotel after he left work. Art and Ellie had graciously invited them over for dinner that evening so we could all spend time together in a quiet and open atmosphere. Mark and I had agreed that going out to dinner in downtown Ann Arbor the night before the art fair began was like going out to dinner in Rome the night before the barbarians invaded.

I was also very eager for Robert and Natalie to meet Art and Ellie. I could wait until my own parents met them, but my godparents were wonderful, charming people and I was pretty damn near certain that everyone would love each other at dinner tonight. I was dead certain that Art and Ellie would love Sebastian. Mark's younger brother was a great kid and few people who met him could find any sort of fault with him. And I knew he'd be safe with Art and Ellie; they'd look at him as another surrogate grandchild-much as they saw Mark and me.

"Coffee," Lucy said to Mark, interrupting my reverie.

He laughed. "It's like a genetic defect or something. All the Bennet sisters I've ever met are addicted to coffee."

"It keeps us going," my younger sister replied. "It's hard to be a Bennet."

"I hear that it has medicinal properties or something," I added.

Mark rolled his eyes. "I like coffee as much as the next guy but you girls are ridiculous."

I smiled. "But that's why you love us. Now give us coffee."

"Only if you promise to get to work after I give it to you," he replied.

"You've got yourself a deal," I replied, kissing his scruffy cheek. "And you, my friend, need to shave."

He rubbed his cheek against my own and smiled. "All in due course, my dear," he replied in his deep, husky voice.

"You two are so weird," my younger sister interrupted. She was playing with the frayed hem of her too-short white shorts and looking off into the distance-which just happened to be the menu.

Mark shrugged and went to pour two cups of coffee. "So you want to make a scarf," I asked my sister. "Have you looked at any patterns?"

She shook her head as she took a cup from Mark. "Nah, I just figured you could pick something for me and I'd make it. I'm not really much for looking at patterns like you do."

I love looking at knitting patterns; Mark mocks me for it but I don't care. I love it. I love getting ideas and thinking about colors and textures and weights. I love dreaming up sweaters and scarves and hats and oh, everything! "I could find you something," I replied. "But you should know what you want. Otherwise, you'll just end up with what I like."

My sister shrugged. "I just want something brown like a chocolate color or something like that."

"Are you planning on wearing it in the winter with your coat?"

She nodded.

"Okay, what color is your coat?"

"Black," Lucy said flatly. "Why does that matter?"

"I was just thinking that you might like something that contrasts with your coat."

"Oh, maybe I could make a yellow scarf."

I smiled. "Yellow is a good color for you. Not for me, but it likes you."

"Yellow is too warm for you," she told me. "You aren't a summery person. You're more of a winter person, a friendly ice queen or something."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not quite sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a fact really."

I nodded and looked at Mark as he poked me. "We need to talk business later," he whispered in my ear.

"Do you want to talk health insurance?" I replied.

"Yes," he said with a nod.

"Will it take a long time?"

"Negative," was his reply.

"I'll meet you in the office shortly before you leave."

He smiled. "That sounds great."

* * *

We talked about health insurance for about fifteen minutes. We finally agreed that since only Jamie and I actually needed the shop to pay for our health insurance, the shop wasn't going to do it. Jamie's dad was a doctor and had always taken care of him. And well, I could make things work for me. My dad always insisted upon helping with my health care. And Mark would have done anything he could have done to help me if I let him. But I won't make myself beholden to him like that without a marriage license. That was only the responsibility of a husband or family member. And that wasn't Mark-not yet, anyway.

* * *

I got home at five-thirty and ran upstairs to shower after promising to set the table when I came downstairs. I had walked home from work since Art and Ellie's house was only a fifteen-minute walk from the shop and I hate parking in downtown Ann Arbor and I was soaked in sweat. I did not want to see Mark's family covered in sweat. Somehow, I managed to shower in ten minutes and be back downstairs before six o'clock. And so I was setting the table by the time they arrived. I found myself being attacked by Iris and Violet as soon as I opened the door Jules and Scarlett were much more reserved. Sebastian was standing between Mark and Natalie; I think he's a little shy. I know that Mark is reserved and I wouldn't be surprised if Sebastian also is. Jules is very reserved; her stepsisters aren't. This was evidenced by the fact that two of them were hugging me at once and talking to me so rapidly that I couldn't understand half of what they were saying.

"I love your dress," one of them said.

"Your hair is amazing," came from the other.

"Iris, Violet, please let go of Betsy," their mother said. "Let her breathe."

"But it's so good to see her, Mom!" Violet said with a toss of her red hair.

"Art, Ellie," I said. "Come here. I want you to meet Mark's family."

My godparents walked into the room-Art from the living room and Ellie from the kitchen. The minute that everyone met, I knew they were all going to get along. I had known that Art and Ellie would love Mark's family. But I wasn't sure I wanted to introduce his family to my family just yet. Natalie and Robert were comfortable and natural; my mother was loud and brash. My father wasn't very involved in his children's lives; Robert was. A meeting of the two families could be awkward. But that evening wasn't awkward. It was fun and comfortable, natural and deliciously normal.

* * *

The next day, I got to work at eight o'clock. Mark and Jamie were already there and Mark pressed a cup of coffee into my hands and kissed me softly as I walked in the front door. "You are an angel among men," I sighed, leaning into his chest.

He hugged me and pressed his lips against the top of my head. "You deserve it. You're going to have a long day today."

"I'm having a long week," I replied. "It's hot. I'm already sweating and it's only eight."

"Did you walk here?"

I nodded. "I didn't want to spend money on gas right now. And I thought trying to drive around here would be stupid."

"You are a wise woman."

I smiled. "You're an amazing man."

"Okay, stop canoodling and start working," Jamie said, walking over to us. He carried a folding table. "There are two more of these in the storage room. Mark, go grab one of them. Betsy, you figure out how many boxes we need and get the signs and crap like that."

"You'd think he ran this place or something," I muttered in Mark's ear.

He grinned. "Drink your coffee and I'll go get that table he's nattering on about."

"You said 'nattering on.' You're so sexy."

Mark laughed. "And you're sexy because you think that use of words like natter is sexy. Now let's get to work."

I smiled and took a sip of coffee. "Let's get down to business."

"After all, the barbarians are at the city gates," he said as he walked to the storage closet.

Setting up for our sidewalk sale wasn't as stressful as it had been in years past. Unlike Lucas, both Jamie and Mark were willing to help me with the yarn. "Yarn isn't that complicated," Mark said as he carried a box of the stuff outside. "I don't get why Lucas went into business with you if he didn't like yarn."

I shrugged. "He's Lucas. He wanted to own the shop but he needed partners. Carlye and I would only come along for the ride if he brought yarn into the deal. So he did and it's a big money maker. He was comfortable making the money but he wasn't comfortable actually dealing with the yarn."

"But it's soft," my boyfriend said as he ran a skein of dark purple yarn along my cheek.

I laughed and grabbed it away from him only to rub it along his cheek. "He said that knitting belonged only to the world of women."

"Men wear knitted goods," he replied with a teasing smile.

"I've seen your socks."

He laughed and kissed my cheek. "I love the socks you made me. Now get this stuff set up and I'll make you another cup of coffee as a reward for finishing."

I ran a finger over his nose and smiled. "Maybe I'll ask you to detangle my yarn for me later."

"That'll cost you. Hey, are you still planning on hanging out with my family tonight?"

I nodded. "I'm supposed to teach Scarlett how to knit. I told her I'd teach her back in March and didn't get around to it. So I told her last night that if she came here today and picked out some yarn, a pattern, and some needles I could teach her tonight."

He grinned. "You're great, really great."

* * *

Natalie came into the shop with her four daughters around lunchtime. We were busy but I was really glad to see them. "Robert will be by with Sebastian in a little bit," Natalie told me after hugging me. "They didn't come to the art fair with us."

"Dad didn't think that Sebby would enjoy it very much," Violet explained.

"He was probably right," I replied. "And with the heat, he'd probably hate it."

Natalie laughed. "You've got him figured out pretty quickly."

"He's like Mark, isn't he? He hates the heat. He's easily bored."

She smiled as her older son walked over to us. "Are you two gossiping about me?" Mark asked before kissing his mother's cheek.

"Naturally, my dear boy," she replied. "I'm your mother; she's your girlfriend. We have to trade information."

"This is why I usually wait to bring girls home."

"This is why you've been single since Clinton's presidency," Jules joked.

He sighed. "I don't see you making any major efforts to get married, little sister."

"You've got a girlfriend, Marky," she replied. "Now you just need to marry her."

I think that Mark's family would be far more heartbroken than either of us would be if we didn't get married.

* * *

"So are you going to teach me to knit tonight?" Scarlett asked.

I smiled. "Of course, but first we need to find you a pattern, some yarn, and some needles."

"I think you should start her off with a basic garter stitch scarf," Mark suggested.

I stopped and looked at him with my jaw hanging open. "Did you just say that?"

He nodded. "I do listen occasionally when you're talking. And I've heard you give the intro to knitting lesson a few times. And I know that garter stitch is the basic knit stitch and the easiest first project is a garter stitch scarf."

"You are freaking amazing, Mark."

He laughed. "Hey, you're pretty fabulous too even if you won't watch baseball with me."

"It's boring," I replied. "Nothing happens."

Mark rolled his eyes and his sisters laughed. His mother shook her head. "Betsy, you have stumbled upon a very contentious issue in our family. Mark, Rob, and Seb love baseball, but we women all hate it."

I laughed while Mark shook his head. I was learning that he had many of the same mannerisms as Natalie. He was very much so his mother's son. Sure, he was built like his father but he had his mother's hair, eyes, spirit, and mannerisms. But I'd much rather snuggle with Mark than with Natalie. There was something very comforting and appealing about my boyfriend's height and build. Mark made me feel safe and comforted. And valued-and that was extremely important.

Scarlett, whose name came from a darker shade of red, wanted to make a dark blue scarf. "Blue is my favorite color," she told me as we looked at blue yarns. "People think that's weird because of my name but I like blues. And Iris really likes pinks even though her name is a shade of purple. And Violet likes purples and greens, but she's the only one who likes the color that is her name."

I smiled. "It's okay. My name is Elizabeth Bennet but Pride and Prejudice isn't my favorite Austen novel."

"I love that book," she replied. "But I've only read a couple of her books. I've never read Northanger or Mansfield."

"You should read them both someday," I told her. "I like both of them."

"You're really cool," she told me as I handed her a pair of size ten needles.

"Why do you say that?"

Scarlett shrugged. "I don't know. But you're really cool. I like you. And Mark likes you a lot. Are these the needles I need?"

"Yep, these are a good size for starting out. If you like knitting, we'll get you more sizes and teach you more details."

She grinned. "I know I'm going to like it."

I laughed. "I'm sure you will. But let's just get you started with a scarf and see how it goes before you dive in head first."

"Mark says that you make socks."

"I do."

"I want to learn to make socks."

"All in good time," I replied with a smile. "But you don't want socks to be your first project. We'll start you off slowly and ease you into knitting."

"When are you going to teach me how to knit?" Mark asked as he suddenly walked over to us.

"You've never actually asked me to teach you."

He shrugged. "Okay, will you teach me to knit?"

I shrugged. "If you make it worth my while, I will."

"Oh, I can make it very much so worth your while."

I grinned. "Talk to me about it later when your sisters aren't around."

He smiled and winked at me. I rolled my eyes.

* * *

We ate lunch in the office with Mark's family. We were really packed in there but it was cozy and comfortable. Mark and I shared the chair behind the desk while his parents and Sebastian sat on the loveseat and his sisters sat on chairs that we brought in from the knitting room. We ate sandwiches that Robert and Sebastian had gotten for us from Zingerman's. It's ridiculously overpriced but their food is good and they are an Ann Arbor tradition. And we had fun.

Sebastian pretends to be shy when he meets new people, so he barely said a word to Jamie. But the minute we had him in the office, he was chattering away about watching the World Cup earlier in the month and how much he hated the vuvuzelas. "That's something everyone in this family can agree on," Jules said.

Mark laughed. "I certainly mentioned my hatred of them enough in my emails during the World Cup."

"And your texts and your phone calls," she teased.

"You should have seen him watching the final," I told her. "He was so irate and involved."

"I can't believe that you cheered for Spain," Iris said. "You've always been all for Germany; we've all always been German fans. You love Klose and Schweinsteiger. And then boom, you root for the team that beat them."

He shrugged. "I don't really like the Spanish team. But I really don't like the Dutch team, and I had to cheer for someone. So I cheered for Spain. Ask Betsy; she'll tell you."

I ran my hand over his head and leaned my head against his cheek. "He does hate the Dutch national team," I admitted. "Apparently, he hates their uniforms. And once the guy kicked the Spanish guy in the chest, it was all over for him."

"Mark firmly believes that everyone should behave in a gentlemanly fashion or something like that," Jules said. "He thinks that this should even apply in sports."

"That's why I like baseball. It's still a gentleman's game."

I looked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Okay, it's sort of still a gentleman's game. It's more a gentleman's game than hockey is."

"You like hockey," I protested. "You might not have the best taste in teams but you do like hockey."

He laughed and ran his fingers through my ponytail. "I'll take you to a Wings game this winter, Betsy. I'll try to like a team that you like."

"That's love," Iris said bitterly. "Love is when you try to like a sports team against your better judgment."

"Love is stupid," Sebastian pronounced. "I'd rather play soccer than worry about girls. Girls are stupid."

We all laughed and he looked very serious and indignant. I suppose we deserved his childish glares and the adorably fierce way in which he crossed his skinny arms across his chest. He was nine and he wasn't supposed to be in love or worry about love. But Mark was thirty-one and I was twenty-five. And I think that those are good ages to worry about love and to be in love.

* * *

It rained on Thursday and again on Friday; they had to shut down the art fair on both days. That summer we never had normal rain showers that lasted only half an hour or light sprinklings of rain or drizzle that didn't really interrupt your day. We only had torrential downpours. And Friday was one of those. After we dragged everything from the sidewalk sale back inside for the second day in a row, Mark, Mercy, and I made ourselves mugs of hot tea. It was still hot and humid after the first blast of rain ended but tea always feels good when you're soaking wet. It's comforting. We stayed until half way through the second blast of the storm when Jamie came downstairs and Hannah arrived. Then Mark drove me home.

* * *

Mark and I arrived back at Art and Ellie's house at five-thirty to find the house empty and Washtenaw County under a tornado warning. Robert called us and told us that we should just stay where we were and they'd see us the next day. Art called me and told me that he and Ellie were at the Whites' house and were going to stay there until the storm blew over. So Mark and I were alone in the house with Fitz, Art and Ellie's dog. The dog was hiding underneath the ping-pong table in the basement and whimpering. Mark and I were huddled in the basement eating grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup while watching _The Philadelphia Story_ and blasting the air conditioning. "This almost reminds me of last winter," I told him as I wrapped the blanket I was using closer about my body.

He laughed. "We spent so much time huddled under blankets on the couch or your bed."

"Laundry days were great."

"Your room was so warm. It was glorious."

I smiled and leaned my head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. "I'm not going to my stepsister's wedding," he said suddenly as we watched Katharine Hepburn drunkenly converse with a similarly-intoxicated Jimmy Stewart.

"Why is that?"

"It's the same weekend that you're going to be in Rhinebeck, so I figured that I shouldn't leave the business with only Jamie in charge."

"They're getting married in October? I thought they were having a summer wedding."

He shrugged. "They changed their plans. I don't really know why. But this means that I can't go and I can't be the best man."

"And I can't see pictures of you dressed as Colonel Saunders."

"I'm quite sure that you'll survive."

"You're boring."

He laughed. "You're ridiculous."

And then the dog began barking. We paused the movie and went upstairs only to discover that Fitz wanted to be let out. But once we let him out, he wouldn't come back in and it was raining again. I sighed and looked at Mark. "I have to go out there, don't I?"

"I'll come with you," he said, rolling up his sleeves and opening the sliding screen door.

* * *

By the time we had wrestled a very stubborn and muddy Fitz back into the house, we were both wet and muddy. "You've got mud on your nose," Mark said, running a finger over my nose. "And I think there's even mud in your hair."

"I'm going to kill that dog," I replied as I pushed a clump of grass and mud off my shoulder. "I feel so gross."

"You're still pretty," he told me as he ran a muddy hand over my hair.

"Yeah, and now I need a shower."

"It's raining. That'll help."

"You're full of it."

He laughed and kissed my nose before saying, "For the record, mud does not taste like chocolate."

I laughed. "Now you're the ridiculous one. And we're getting wetter. Why are we still out in the rain? Are you trying to make me catch pneumonia?"

"Yes," he replied before capturing my lips in an extremely wet but thoroughly wonderful kiss. And I felt a lot like Mary Jane must have felt when Spiderman kissed her while he was hanging upside down in the rain.

Then Mark dragged me inside the house, we both showered and changed into dry clothes, and went back downstairs to finish the movie.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I don't own the obvious. Also, I stay away from you guys for such long times to prove to you that absence really does make the heart grow fonder…or because I moved and am back at school and busily student teaching. That life doesn't leave much free time for writing unfortunately.

_

* * *

I find it interesting that every Jane Austen novel ends with a wedding. After the characters are safely married, we see no more of their lives. Austen's detailed narration of events ends with the weddings. She gives us tidbits here and there to let us know that they lived good and happy lives but she doesn't tell us what life was like for Fanny and Edmund now that Edmund was the parson of the Mansfield parish or what life was like for Frederick and Anne after their wedding. Where did the Wentworth family reside? How many children did the Darcys have? And what in the heck ever became of Charlotte and William Collins? _

_I don't think it would have been good to continue the novels until the day that Fitzwilliam died or something like that. I'm not in favor of narrating the characters' lives until they die. But I think it would be interesting to see how married life and family life played out for these characters. I've often wondered if Charlotte and Mr. Collins ever had any children. I suspect that they did but I also pity poor Charlotte for marrying that toady and then successively being obligated to have sexual intercourse with him and provide him with an heir. My own girlfriend has frequently admitted that she would never get involved with Mr. Collins sexually. She describes him as a creep and she suspects him of being some sort of pervert or sexual deviant. I wouldn't go that far but I do understand what she thinks of him and why. _

_-An excerpt from a January 2011 essay by Mark F. Williamson entitled "What Comes After 'Happily-Ever-After?'"_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

"I have big news," Jenna told me via text message one day in mid-August. "I'll be in the shop soon to tell you."

"Kevin got a job at Michigan State!" my sister announced as she flung open the shop door and rushed towards me. "He's going to be living in East Lansing. And we're going to start dating again."

I shot Mark a pointed "Keep your mouth shut" look before going to hug my sister and congratulate her. This was a victory for her as well as Kevin because it meant that they would be able to make their relationship work. It also mean that she mean enough to him that he was willing to make changes and sacrifices for their relationship-something that he had appeared unwilling to do the previous December.

"It's still going be really rough for us," she said. "But we're going to try to make it work. And he really likes me, Betsy. He wants to be with me. He's coming by himself this time. He's not bringing Emily. He told me that having her around isn't good for us and so he won't let her come with him this time. He's focused on us, on doing what's best for our relationship."

I grinned at her bright smile. "I'm glad to see you so happy."

She smiled even more at that. "I like him, Betsy. He's such a great guy. And I think we're going to get married someday."

Mark coughed at that. He hates listening to what he calls "girly-gushing." It's the result, according to him, of having too many sisters.

"Would you prefer that we talk about football?" I asked, walking back to my boyfriend.

He kissed my cheek. "Yes, please do. That would be sexy."

"Too bad," I replied. "I don't think Jenna knows anything about football."

"Lame," Mark replied. "We should educate her."

I laughed. "Good luck with that one, I spent many years of my life trying and I never got anywhere. She calls touchdowns goals."

"Well, she's kind of close there," he replied charitably. "You score goals in the other kind of the football, the kind we Americans call soccer."

My sister shrugged. "Can I have a large iced green tea before you two continue mocking me?"

"Sure thing," Mark said as he took the pitcher of iced green tea out of the refrigerator. "Betsy, are we still giving your sister free drinks or did we finally decide that we were losing money that way and we should be more fiscally responsible and charge her?"

"Well," I said slowly. "We do need to hire a new employee to cover the shifts you won't be able to cover when you go back to teaching in a couple of weeks. So I suppose if we charged Jenna for everything she eats and drinks here, we could afford another employee."

In a most mature fashion, my sister responded to this comment by sticking her tongue out at me and called me "Fart-face." This made Mark laugh and me remark that "I always was the mature one in this family."

This only made Mark laugh more. And I liked hearing him laugh. "I think you're full of it," he said. "I don't think you've ever been the mature one in the family."

"Have you ever heard me call anyone 'fart-face'?"

"She's too classy for that kind of language," Jenna said. "And she doesn't spend all her time around first-graders, so her insults are more intelligent."

Mark rolled his eyes, handed my sister her drink, and pulled me close to himself. "She is one of the only people I've ever met who uses Dickens characters in her insults."

"Like saying 'you're such a Miss Havisham' to people?" my older sister asked.

"Yeah," Mark said. "I know what she means but I still think she's crazy every time she says it."

I giggled and kissed his scruffy cheek. "Hey now, you're the one who runs around comparing people to Casanova and Don Juan."

Jenna laughed and shook her head. "You two are such dorks. I bet you sit around watching BBC movies together all the time."

"We regularly have BBC America nights with Art and Ellie," Mark replied.

"Oh dear God, have mercy on us all," my sister sighed. "You two are going to end up just like them in about fifty years."

"You know," I said with a smile and sigh. "I really wouldn't mind that, not at all. In fact, I think I might enjoy being like them. "

Mark snorted. "You're already well on your way, missy."

"Hey now," I said, running my fingers over his cheek. "I resemble that remark."

"Je t'aime,' he said with a sigh as he kissed the top of my head.

I smiled. "I like it when you talk to me in French and I have no clue what you're saying."

"That one is easy. You know what it means."

I giggled. "And it's sexy, really sexy."

* * *

"We really do need to hire another employee," I told Mark when we were alone in the office later in the day.

"I know," he replied. "Do you want to rehire Lucy now that she knows how to knit?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. I love her but I don't think she's ready to work her and I don't think she wants to work here. She hates getting up before noon."

"Then we should ask Mercy and Hannah if they know anyone who would be interested in working here," he said. "I like the idea of hiring students."

I laughed. "We should also make sure that they like books and knitting. I want to have employees who are interested in all the aspects of the store."

"Just as long as they aren't interested in you," he replied. "You're my favorite aspect of the store."

I swatted his hands away from my neck. "Stop trying to seduce me at work. Wait until we get back to my place or something."

He laughed. "You're getting dirty, girl."

"It's good for you. I'm working on your self-control."

"It's not working very well."

"Fine," I said, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk from him. "I'll talk to Mercy right now and I'll talk to Hannah tomorrow. And if they don't have any ideas, I'll put the 'Help Wanted' sign in the front window."

He smiled and ran one finger down my jawbone with a playful smile. "That sounds amazing. But can we go home now?"

I laughed and kissed his cheek. "Yeah, you can go upstairs and I'll drive myself back to the house."

"That's not what I was thinking of," my boyfriend replied with a petulant pout.

I shrugged. "But you said you wanted to go home."

He rolled his eyes. "I want us to go home together. I don't care which home that is."

"Okay, let's go to my parents' home."

Mark sighed. "We're going upstairs, Elizabeth. I will cook you dinner. We will engage in wild and frivolous sexual behavior."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. But I want to spend time lone with my girlfriend. So get your ass upstairs and into my bed."

I glared at him. "No, and don't think you can boss me around like that just because you're my boyfriend. If you want to sleep with me, you have to make me want to sleep with you. You can't just order me around like I'm some kind of a little sex doll."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Betsy. I was kidding."

"I know but you sounded like an asshole."

"Would you like to go home, eat dinner, and watch a movie instead?" he asked.

I nodded. "And we'll see where the evening takes us."

* * *

The evening took us to watch _The Young Victoria_ with Art and Ellie. This was not planned. We walked into the house intending to watch _An Ideal Husband_ but ended up with _The Young Victoria_ and my landlords instead. This inspired Mark to make some quip about trading Mr. Knightley for Mr. Wickham. I threatened to punch him for that one. I told him that mustaches greatly improved the character of one man but didn't do as much for the other. He laughed and spent the rest of the movie snuggling with me while I knitted. He was always teasing me that he had to share me with knitting like it was the "other man" in my life. He knew that I loved knitting and it was important to me. But sometimes, I think it drove him nuts to snuggle with me-and two pointy sticks. But I promised to start making him a sweater the day that he asked me to marry him. I still believed in the curse of the boyfriend sweater. But I would make my fiancé or my husband a sweater. For now, it was just socks, scarves, mittens, and hats.

He loved that. He loved knowing that he wasn't getting everything until we were married-or at least until we were engaged. Mark likes going slowly and being careful. He's been hurt in relationships before and he has seen what happens when you move too fast. He doesn't normally put pressure on me although occasionally, I can tell that he wants to do more and go further than we already have.

* * *

I had to drive him home that night because we had both ridden from the shop in my car. We chatted pleasantly about our plans for the weekend during most of the drive but as I pulled up in front of the shop, he looked at me seriously. "Betsy, I need you know to know that I'm really sorry about what I said and did earlier today. I had no right to try to push you like that."

I nodded. "Mark, I do want to go all the way with you. But not yet, I'm not ready. To be honest, I'm more than a little scared of sex. I've never done it before. I want to feel safe and comfortable. And it scares me. Sex is a big deal, no matter how many people say that it isn't. If they hadn't had sex together, Carlye and Justin wouldn't be together anymore. But they did. And now they're married and they have a kid on the way. I don't want to make any mistakes like that. I don't want to mess up anything important."

He nodded. "This won't be easy on me, but I'm going to try to be patient with you."

"I need this from you, Mark," I told him. "I need this more than I need anything else from you. And I promise you that I'll let you know when I'm ready."

He kissed my fingertips. It seemed odd-like something out of an old movie. But Mark did it. And he smiled. "I love you, Betsy. And I'm willing to wait as long as I have to and as much as I have to. I think that Albert had it right in that movie. He was patient with Victoria and I'll be patient with you because that's what love is."

I smiled and ran my hand along his cheek. "You are wonderful."

* * *

A few weeks later, I found myself spending a Saturday afternoon sitting on my parents' back porch looking at their backyard while nursing a glass of wine and knitting a sweater. Lydia needed help with her math homework, so I was helping her-while knitting and drinking wine. I know how it sounds and it probably looked worse. But we were much more successful that you would suspect at first glance. My math skills, which are pretty decent due to owning my own business, improve substantially when I'm sipping chardonnay. However, Mark does not let me balance the books while drinking alcohol. He says that it's dangerous. I say that he's a wet blanket.

"You've got to keep Mom sober at that party tonight," my sister tells me as I write out the quadratic formula for her.

I looked at her. "That's a tall order. I'm going to be with Mark; I can't watch Mom all night too."

"But you know that she's furious about Dad resigning as department chair. She thinks that Dr. White stole the position from him. She refuses to understand that it was his decision and he did it because of me. She won't listen to reason or logic."

I smiled at my sister and sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"You know that she'll make a scene if she's drunk."

"Lu," I said slowly after taking a sip of wine. "You know our mother. It is completely possible that she'll make a scene even if she's sober. She's a mildly dramatic person."

My sister smiled. "I know, Betsy. But you've got to try to help her. She needs you."

The idea that my mother needed me was strange. She had never needed me. She had barely ever wanted me. And I doubt that she had ever understood me. I tried to love her. And I think I succeeded most days. But I rarely liked her or enjoyed her company. But God help me; she is my mother and I guess that there is something I owe her. So I kissed my sister's cheek and smiled. "I'll keep an eye on her, Lu. But I make you no promises. You know Mom."

Just then, our mother walked out of the house. "So, Elizabeth, I suppose your father and I will be seeing you at that party at that asshole Chris White's house this evening. I'm guessing that you're going with that weird, manipulative boyfriend of yours."

"We'll be there," I replied, choosing to overlook her editorial comments. "Mark and I are looking forward to it."

"That party was at our house last year. It should have been here this year too."

* * *

I would never forget the previous year's party. That was when I met Mark. It all seemed so far away, so long ago. He called me a hippie and ditzy and said that I probably had horrible taste in books. And I thought he was a pompous asshole. I think I was secretly broken-hearted that he wasn't British or in his mid-forties; I'd built up this idea of Mark F. Williamson as a sexy silver fox. And he wasn't that. He was younger than I'd expected and while he was sexy, he hadn't lived up to my expectations. I'd been shocked-and maybe a little upset at first.

But in retrospect, it was a good thing that he didn't live up to my expectations. I couldn't have dated the man I imagined; he was an unattainable goal much like Mr. Darcy to me. But I could date and marry the Mark that I met. He was not at all unattainable. And he gave good back rubs.

* * *

Mark picked me up at six-thirty and drove me to the Whites' house. Unlike my parents who live in a ritzy suburban subdivision on the north side of Ann Arbor, Chris and Lisa White live in a very nice house in downtown Ann Arbor. Unlike most people (including Art and Ellie) who live downtown, Chris and Lisa have an amazing backyard; it's perfect for children and for parties. When I was a kid, I was really good friends with their son, Josh, and spent a lot of time playing there. Going there as Mark's girlfriend was kind of weird. I wasn't used to being Chris and Lisa's peer but rather their children's guest. But I suppose that part of growing up is becoming an adult and learning to call your friends' parents by their first names.

"You look amazing," Mark said as he opened my car door for me and helped me in the car. I was wearing a light blue dress that I knew he loved.

"I'm sweating like a pig underneath all this. Trust me," I told him with a smile.

He laughed. "Betsy, it is cooler today than it's been in weeks. You can actually wear pants for the first time in ages."

The past few weeks had been obscenely hot and absurdly humid. The new, cooler temperatures were a relief. Even going outside had seemed dangerous for a while and this cooler weather (highs in the seventies) was a cause for rejoicing. We could spend time in the Whites' garden during their party.

"Did you realize that we met a year ago tomorrow?" I asked Mark.

"Can we pretend that we didn't really meet until later in the year? Like, let's wait until sometime when I actually started to act like a human being and be nice to you. Let's say that we met in October. You made me a chaider and won my heart."

I laughed. "I like that story, but it's not true. So it won't be the story we're telling our grandchildren."

"Lame," he replied.

"Hey, you were supposed to be British."

"Says who?" he asked.

"Me," I replied. "I always thought you were British."

Mark smiled and shook his head. "The doctorate is British. The man is a Minnesotan."

I laughed. "You're ridiculous, Mark. And I think that might be my favorite thing about you. You're totally real. You're not one of those pie-in-the-sky academic types who can't tie their shoes or make a grocery list. You're real. And I love that about you."

He laughed and pulled into a parking spot a few houses down from the Whites' house. "I love you too," he said, kissing the tip of my nose. "Now let's go inside."

* * *

"Your parents aren't here yet," Leslie said when she opened the door.

"I didn't even ask you," I replied as we walked into the house.

She laughed. "I've known you since you were about three, Betsy. I could read the question on your face. Go get some wine and talk to people. Enjoy yourself, dear. Mark, it's good to see you. How are you?"

Mark kissed Leslie's cheek. "I'm doing really well. How are you?"

"Doing well," she replied with a smile. "We'll chat later. But it's so good to see you two."

* * *

Mark and I went out to the backyard where Chris gave us each a glass of white wine. "Dr. Williamson," he said with a warm smile. "Are you ready for the start of the semester?"

My boyfriend shrugged. "I've had a good summer but I like my line-up for the fall. I think it'll be good semester."

Chris smiled. "And you've got two mentees this year, yes?"

"Yep, it should be interesting. One of them is really fixated on Dickens, which should be fun. And then the other one is more interested in Austen-type stuff. She might be looking at Gaskell too but she hasn't decided on a thesis yet, so we'll have to wait and see."

"I think Betsy is going to start rolling her eyes pretty soon," Chris teased with a knowing wink.

I laughed. "I'm used to it. I know that this is Mark's version of talking dirty."

They both laughed and Chris opened his mouth as if to say something more but just then, my mother burst into the yard crying, "Elizabeth, how wonderful to see you."

I cringed internally as I handed my glass of wine to Mark and walked over to my mother. "Hey, Mom," I said with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm wonderful. Could you be a darling and get me a glass of wine? I'm thirsty," she said all this without ever looking directly at me.

"Come with me," I replied leading her over to Chris White, who immediately supplied her with a glass of wine.

"White wine?" she said. "I prefer red. But booze is booze, so I'll take it."

I could feel myself blushing and Mark pressed my own glass into my hands. I took a sip and looked at him desperately. He smiled and put his arm around my waist. "Do you want to come with me and talk to Sarah and Ross?"

Sarah and Ross were his new doctoral mentees. He was very excited about them because they were his first of his career. He was also nervous because Ross wanted to work with Dickens and Mark hadn't studied Dickens as much as he had other writers. He'd told me once that Chris White had been planning on being Ross's mentor but then he became department chair and he had to hand Ross off to Mark because he didn't think he'd have time for a mentee.

* * *

Sarah and Ross were both lovely people and I liked them immediately. But I wasn't focusing my full attention on them because I was watching my mother who was becoming increasingly intoxicated. I was embarrassed for her as she spoke too loudly and without any regard for people around her. She had made several loud and impertinent comments about Chris White stealing my father's position as department chair.

Mark and I were talking to Art and Ellie when my mother really got started on Leslie White. She was telling her how the party wasn't as nice as the parties that "my darling husband and I used to throw. But of course you and Chris are amateurs. You'll get more experienced with age. But watch your backs. Once my lovely Elizabeth marries that handsome, rich Williamson boy, your day in the sun will be over. He'll overthrow you and put dear Joel back on top. Just you wait, Leslie," she said. She swung her glass as she spoke and sloshed wine-red wine that she had acquired from somewhere-on Leslie's yellow dress. "Just you wait."

I couldn't stand by innocently anymore. I walked over to my mother, whispered "sorry" and "send me the dry cleaning bill" to Leslie, and grabbed my mother's arm. "You're coming with me," I told her firmly.

"Like hell I am," she said before splashing the rest of her surprisingly full glass of red wine on me, staining my dress.

As I gasped, she walked away. Mark came over to me and put a hand on my shoulders. "Come on, Betsy. Your dad can take care of her. I'm taking you home. We'll get you cleaned up."

"I feel lost," I whispered as he led me to the car.

He pulled me to his chest and held me close for a minute before helping me into the car. And I realized that the still-wet wine had stained his white shirt. And I knew then that I loved him and he loved me.

* * *

Half an hour later, Carlye called to tell me that she had given birth to a baby girl whom they had named Margaret Elizabeth Collins earlier that day. And her marriage was unstable ground but "that isn't necessarily a bad thing," to quote her.

"I like that name a lot," Mark said when I got off the phone. "It's kind of too bad that your best friend just named her daughter that because I really like that name."

"We'll figure something out," I told him. "But I do like it too."

* * *

A/N: I know. I haven't updated in over a month. Please enjoy this and forgive me. Hopefully more will follow soon.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I don't own what you recognize. I know this took forever to update but we're going to have to blame the fact that I am taking five classes and student teaching. It's amazing how much time and energy classes, papers, and teaching can take from a person.

_

* * *

We all know that I think that Lady Catherine is a nutcase. Apparently, no one ever told her that people do not (generally speaking) like it when you try to control their lives and manipulate them. I know someone like this. This person likes to send emails to family members in which she scolds them for not doing what she wants them to do. She does not act (or really pretend to act) with others' best interests at heart. She acts with her own opinions and prejudices and desires at heart. She tells people who to marry and when to marry and when to have children and how to have children. But she doesn't have much experience in any of these areas. Like, would you really take marriage advice from someone who has been divorced eight times? I'm not saying that this person has been divorced eight times; she hasn't. But she doesn't know as much about marriage-or really relationships in general-as she pretends to. _

_This has affected my life in a way that is somewhat similar to the way that Lady Catherine's meddling affected Darcy's life. And let me tell you: it's beyond annoying. You should never interfere directly into someone's love life. Do not email their girlfriend and tell her that she is not worthy of her boyfriend. Don't write your stepson emails in which you explain to him how his girlfriend is a gold-digger. These sorts of things never turn out well for you and they don't do what you were hoping they would do to your stepson's relationship with his girlfriend. You might actually have the complete opposite effect from your intent. _

_Basically, Lady Catherine wasn't as smart as she thought she was. _

_- An excerpt from the introduction to "Reflections on Lady Catherine," an article by Mark F. Williamson published in November 2011_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

Watching chick flicks with Art is beyond amusing. No matter how hard he tries or what he does, Art can never stop being an English professor, the sort of person who analyzes and looks for meaning in everything. He does carpentry in the garage as a stress-release but somehow, Charles Dickens always ends up dancing across the bookshelves. And I never even knew that Dickens could dance before I saw the bookshelf that now holds approximately one-fifth of my book collection. Austen waltzes on another of my shelves while Chaucer does the polka on a third. My other two bookshelves are from IKEA. They're useful and all but there is no art, poetry, or music to them.

Art has made me love _You've Got Mail_. And I never really liked it until I watched it with Art, Ellie, and Mark one chilly evening in early October. It was a blustery evening outside but inside we were cozy with a fire in the fireplace and mugs of tea and _You've Got Mail_. I know that I protest against that movie because the Big Bad Corporate Business triumphs over the Small, Cutesy, Locally-Owned, Family Business. But there is something about it that I love. Maybe it's the music. Maybe it's the innumerable references to Pride and Prejudice. Maybe it's Meg Ryan's outfits. It is decidedly not her hair. But there is something about it that charms me. And watching it with Art made me love it even more.

Whenever he speaks, there is a sort of British tint, if you will, to his voice. Art is from Canada originally but has lived in Ann Arbor since some time in the early 1950s when he came here to follow his mentor professor from the University of Toronto. He was newlywed and poor. But he was a popular professor. And he was fun. He still is-especially when he yells at Tom Hanks "Just be honest with her!" after his encounter with Meg Ryan in the coffee shop. And then he and Mark spent at least half an hour analyzing how the Upper West Side of Manhattan functions as a character throughout the movie. "Could the movie take place here in Ann Arbor?" Art asked.

Mark shrugged. "It could but it wouldn't be the same story. Fox Books would be seen differently here because Borders started here. And you don't have the same history and character here that you have in Manhattan. I think that every setting plays a different role in a story. Pride and Prejudice would be an entirely different story if Elizabeth Bennet had lived in London and Netherfield was a house in London. It would have changed so many minute details about the story."

I shook my head. "You two are ridiculous."

"But it's true!" my boyfriend protested. "Life was so different between the city and the country back then."

"Mark," I said as I ran a hand over his shoulders. "Breathe, sweetheart. I know that. And I know that settings can act as silent characters in books and movies. But I also know that you and Art sit around and talk about this kind of stuff at ten o'clock at night when you both have early morning classes tomorrow."

"But this stuff is fun, Betsy," Mark protested in the same voice that he had probably used twenty-five years earlier in an effort to convince his mother that he just needed three Oreos instead of two in his lunch.

"And I have to open tomorrow morning, so I'm going to bed," I told him.

"I thought you quit opening," Ellie said. "I thought we all agreed that you weren't a morning person and that you should never open."

"We did. But Mercy has an exam in her ten o'clock class tomorrow and wanted some extra study time, so I told her I'd cover her shift."

"Make yourself a latte with an extra shot of espresso when you get there and pretend that it's from me," Mark told me.

I laughed. "I will."

"I'll be by later in the day and give you more caffeine," he added with a flicker of his eyebrows.

"I love a man who gives me caffeine." I said as I ran a hand over his hair and he smiled.

"Betsy, stop flirting with your young man there and go to bed," Art said. "It's getting late and we all know that you're not a morning person."

"Yes, your majesty," I teased. "Markus, I'll walk you out."

"We must kiss in the shadows then?" he asked as we walked to the front door.

"This isn't a secret romance, Mark," I told him. "Art is just old-fashioned and he's concerned about me getting enough sleep before work tomorrow morning."

"But of course, Princess Aurora," he replied, kissing my nose. "I'll see you tomorrow. I think I'll be at the shop around five or so. Will you still be there?"

"Check," I replied. "I'm opening in the morning and Jamie is relieving me around one. But I'll be back around four-thirty; I'm teaching the beginners' class tomorrow at five and I want to get ready. So you can flirt with me for a little bit while I get ready for it."

He laughed. "When will your class be done?"

I shrugged playfully. "Oh, I don't know. It usually gets out around seven but I don't know how tomorrow will go. I could make it go much longer if I need to."

"Or you could make it end earlier if you wanted."

"I could. It's a definite possibility."

"Well, I was thinking I'd like to take you out for dinner some time soon. And I was thinking that tomorrow night would be a good night. After all, it is Friday night."

"Thursday, I don't care about you," I replied with a wink and a smile.

"Friday, I'm in love again," he said, throwing his arms around me and kissing me.

I laughed. "I want to run away with you, Mark Frederick Williamson. Take me somewhere exotic where I have no worries in the world."

He grinned. "Marry me, princess, and I promise that you that I'll make all of your wildest dreams come true."

"If you were serious, I'd say yes to that proposal." And I meant that. But I knew that he didn't mean what he'd said. He wasn't really proposing marriage-not yet. Barely any of our conversation that evening had been serious and he wouldn't quote _Napoleon Dynamite_ in a marriage proposal. He had far too much sense for that and he knew me too well.

* * *

Carlye came into the shop with baby Margaret the next afternoon four-forty-five. Carlye had moved back to her parents' house two weeks earlier when Margaret was only three or four weeks old. She had realized after the baby was born that she wasn't happy with Justin and that marrying him had been a mistake. Justin had realized, after talking to Mark's charming stepmother, that Carlye was not the right life partner for him because they did not share similar values. Somehow, the birth of a daughter had shown both of them the mistakes that they had made. And they were going to have a trial separation of six months that would most likely be followed by a divorce. Upon hearing this, my mother had the gall to tell me that I still had the chance to leave Mark for Justin. I did not choose to dignify this statement with a response but instead reminded myself of how lucky I was to have Mark in my life.

Little Maggie too was a beneficiary of my good fortune. Mark doted on her like the father that the little one needed. While her own father was out of the picture, her godfather played with her and talked to her and kissed her soft cheeks and generally adored her. But Carlye was still worried.

"I need a job," Carlye said as soon as I asked her how she was and took Maggie from her arms.

I nodded and smiled as I kissed my goddaughter's head. "I'm sorry, but I can't offer you a job, Carlye. And I can't sell you your old shares in the shop back; Mark bought them and he won't leave this place."

"I know. And I'm not asking you to. But I need ideas, Betsy. I have a baby and I'm unemployed. All I have is an English degree and I don't know what to do with that. I can't afford grad school or anything like that. And I don't know what to do."

I felt horribly for her. I really did. "You could just start applying Borders and Barnes and Noble. One of them would probably gladly hire someone with an English degree and bookstore experience."

"But that's working for your enemies," she protested.

"Carlye, you need a job and I can't give you one. I have all the employees I need. So go talk to my competitors. It won't kill our friendship. I would hire you if I could but I can't."

She nodded. "I understand. Well, okay, could you possibly baby-sit Maggie for me while I look for a job? I'd ask Mom but she's pretty busy and she told me that she'd rather not baby-sit if she didn't have to. She isn't too thrilled about me bringing the baby and moving back in under their roof when I haven't lived there since I was eighteen."

"That sounds like your mom." Mrs. Ormond had changed since Lucas's adventures with Lucy. She had become very timid and concerned about her children. She had never liked change and now she was almost morally opposed to it. She didn't want anything to change and she didn't want anyone to make a major decision. It wasn't that she was upset about Carlye leaving Justin because she wanted them to stay together; she just didn't like the fact that her life was changing and her children were doing things that she couldn't control. And to top it all off, she'd always been a very moral person. She didn't believe in things like premarital sex or divorce or political corruption. And then Lucas had his adventures with Lucy; I don't know how else to describe that incident. Carlye got pregnant outside of marriage and married a jackass. Then, she gave birth to Maggie and left her husband with every intention in the world of divorcing him. Life was not going the way that Mrs. Ormond had expected or desired.

"I just want to be happy again," Carlye said, bursting through my reverie. "Justin sucked something out of me. I never should have gotten involved with him. He was trying to control me. He didn't like who I was and he wanted me to be someone else. You got lucky with Mark."

I laughed because just as she said that, Mark walked in. and immediately, he scooped Maggie from my arms. "Hey, love," he said kissing her cheek. "Hey, Carlye; how's life?"

"I need a job," she replied.

"Talk to Chris White," he replied. "I hear he might need a new secretary."

"I've never been a secretary before."

He shrugged. "I think you could do it."

I looked at my watch and slipped away from the two of them because I did have a class to teach at five and students were starting to come in.

* * *

Two hours later, I found Mark alone in the office. My class ended, my students were milling around the shop, and Jamie, Mercy, and Kate were all working.

Mark's back was to me and he was on the phone. "Jules, listen to me. I can't do it. And I won't. You know how I feel about Dad and Claire. And I was never fond of Annalisa. I can't stand George. So why would I go to the wedding?"

There was a pause but I didn't move from the doorway. I wanted to hear this, whatever it was. A moment or two later, I heard more. "Look, I understand what you're saying. But Betsy is going out of town that weekend. It's perfect because it's the weekend of fall break around here. I have two days off. I can work at the shop while Betsy goes away. She and Ellie will both be gone all weekend. They're leaving Friday and they'll be home late on Sunday. So I need to work. It'll just be me with Jamie, Hannah, Mercy, and Meg in the shop. Do you see? Do you get it? Yeah, exactly; I can't leave. I'm sorry. I know Dad and Claire will be pissed. I'm sure. I've already gotten irate emails from Claire. But I don't care. I'm okay with it. I love Betsy and I'm willing to make sacrifices for her."

I smiled at that. He spun around as he kept talking and smiled at me. He mouthed "one minute" as he held up one finger. And I nodded and smiled back. I leaned my head against the doorframe. He loved me. He was making sacrifices for me. And so I resolved to start looking for a beautiful dark blue yarn for him. I was going to make him a sweater. Screw the curse of the boyfriend sweater. No damn sweater could kill our relationship. If we broke up while I was making this sweater or after I gave it to him, it wasn't because I was spending time knitting a sweater. Only the night before I had been thinking of reasons why I shouldn't make him a sweater. But the night before, I hadn't realized that he was skipping his stepsister's wedding to his half-brother so that I could go to Rhinebeck. I knew that he wasn't terribly upset about missing that wedding. But I knew that if he went to that wedding, he could also see his mom, Robert, Jules, Sebastian, Iris, Violet, and Scarlett. And giving up that was a sacrifice. It was a big sacrifice. And it was a sign that he loved me. So I resolved to find some absolutely beautiful dark blue wool while in Rhinebeck the following weekend; this man was worthy of a beautiful wool sweater to go with the scarf I was already knitting him.

* * *

A week later, Mark drove Ellie and me to the airport. I had been planning on driving to Rhinebeck with Hannah, Mercy, and Meg over their fall break. But then Ellie had expressed interest in going and the younger girls decided to stay home and hold down the fort at the shop. "You never know what would happen if we left Mark and Jamie alone with the shop for even two or three days," Mercy had pointed out quite honestly.

So Ellie and I were flying; she was paying for my plane ticket because she knew that I couldn't afford to fly to New York and then rent a car and pay for a room in a bed-and-breakfast during the New York Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck, New York.

* * *

Right before we left, I found Mark's email account open on the office computer. It was one of the "irate emails" from his stepmother about his decision to stay in Ann Arbor instead of attending the wedding. He didn't know that I saw it. I didn't want him to know.

To: "Mark Williamson" mark. at

From: "Claire Devereaux" clairedeveraux at

Date: October 16, 2010

Subject: Your priorities

Mark, as your stepmother I feel a responsibility to write to you on this subject. You do not have your priorities in order. Your half-brother is marrying my dear, dear Annalisa this weekend and you are not attending. You were offered the position of best man. And you should have accepted it. But instead, you are refusing to come to the wedding because of some hole-in-the-wall business that you have. You think that your responsibilities to your little shop are more important than your responsibilities to your only half-brother and you dearest stepsister. You ought to attend this wedding. Instead, you are staying home so that your little girlfriend can take some silly little vacation. Where are her priorities? Is she not willing to make sacrifices for your duties to your family? Why is she making you do this to your family? Your father and I love you. We want you at this wedding.

And instead, you're letting that little gold-digger dominate your ways. Do you even know that much about her? I've heard Juliana mention that you're planning on proposing soon. Do you know what you're doing? You've only been dating her since summer. You really should reconsider what you're doing. This girl could be trouble. She could be after the Williamson money. And that is not what we need or want in this family.

Please think over what I have said carefully. And remember that you are a Williamson; your family has great history. What is this girl in comparison with you?

Your loving stepmother,

Claire

I didn't mention that email to Mark or even to Ellie. I could have tried to do something about it; I really could have. Hell, I could have replied to the email. But I didn't. Claire Devereaux really reminded me of Lady Catherine DeBourgh and I had frequently heard Mark compare the two "bitches" as he liked to call them. If Mark was Darcy and I was the character after whom I had been named, then Claire had essentially sent an email saying "Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?" And if Mark was interested in polluting those sacred shades with me, then I would gladly join him. He was (and still is) an amazing person and I would be glad to be the sort of woman that he would consider to be his wife. And to know that he wanted to marry me, I can't even explain to you how that made me feel. I knew that previously. But to know that he had talked to Jules about it, that filled me with exhilaration. I was hurt that his stepmother disliked me so much. But I was over the moon at the thought that Jules told people that he wanted to marry me. That meant he was very, very, very serious about me. Mark loved me. And I loved him back. So screw his dumb stepmother; what the hell did she know about love anyway?

* * *

Rhinebeck was amazing. It wasn't long enough but it was great. Where else on earth can you find hundreds of people who love knitting and fiber that much? I got some great ideas for the shop. I talked to people who were willing to let us sell their products in the shop. We had great sweater weather, which is always a plus for fiber-lovers. And it was great to spend time with Ellie; she really is like a second grandmother to me. But I wanted to go home. I missed Mark. I'd never felt that way before. I had never ached to see someone before when I was away from them. Jamie had been gone for two years and I had never felt the ache in the pit of my heart that I felt for Mark in those two days.

And so when I saw him waiting for me at baggage claim, I ran to him and threw myself into his arms. "This is a warm welcome," he said after kissing me.

I smiled. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

"You were only gone for two days."

"Yeah, two days is a long time."

"Fuck, you saw my stepmother's email, didn't you?"

I looked at him slightly confused. "How did you figure that out?"

"When I got back to the shop after I took you the airport, I realized that I hadn't logged out of my email before you went online to print your boarding passes. And I realized that I'd left that particular email from Claire open. And I know you. You read it."

"She doesn't like me very much."

"I don't mind you if that makes you feel any better."

I laughed. "It makes me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad," he replied. "I'm very glad. I don't care what she says. You're not leaving my life. I love you too much."

"I love you too," I replied as he put an arm around my shoulders. "Now let's get my crap and head home. I'm sweepy, Mark, sweepy."

He smiled and threaded his fingers through mine. Ellie was standing by the luggage carousel, waiting for us and our bags. "I haven't seen our stuff yet, kids," she said in a tired tone. "Let's hope it comes quickly."

I nodded and leaned my head against my boyfriend's shoulder. "That's it," I mumbled as a blue duffel bag came into view. "That's my bag."

Mark slipped away from me and grabbed it. A minute or two later, he grabbed Ellie's bag. "Let's go, kids," he said.

* * *

So we went home. And I crawled into bed and slept for twelve hours straight. I don't really like flying very much. Sure it gets me from point A to point B much faster than driving does, but on the other hand, I get horrific motion sickness and turn into an absolute mess. I could never meet a man during a flight or on an airplane; I'm too much of a mess. But I don't need that. I've got Mark and he's seen me on some pretty shitty days; I'm pretty sure he's with me for life. I'm pretty sure that he can live with some motion sickness every now and then in exchange for a life with the woman he loves.

* * *

Life went on as it always does. The weather got colder. We started getting more orders for chaider. I started wearing sweaters more often. And Mark, well, Mark did something that was unexpected. We'd been dating for three or four months. But it was serious; we both knew that. And then one quiet rainy Wednesday evening in October-as in only two days after we got back from Rhinebeck, he walked into the office where I was playing with Maggie who was now about seven weeks old.

"What's up?" I asked him.

"I keep meaning to ask you something and I just want to get it out."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, so I almost asked you on Sunday and I sort of asked you a couple of weeks ago but it didn't work either time. But you saw my stepmother's email and I really want to ask you and I really should ask you and I do want to ask you because I want to do it."

I was starting to get concerned but I was also starting to suspect what he wanted to ask me. "Mark, spit it out."

"Marry me, Betsy Bennet. Marry me and make me the happiest man alive. You are the best friend I've ever had and you put up with me and I love you. And I want you."

And then Maggie burped loudly. "Well, she'll marry you apparently," I replied.

And we both laughed. He smiled and ran his hand through his hair. It was rumpled and disheveled and beautiful. "I don't want to marry her. I want you, Bets. So what say you?"

I smiled. It was all I could do. I smiled and nodded like a fool. And he laughed. Of course he laughed. He laughs at me when I'm a fool and I love him for it.

"Is that a yes?" Mark asked.

I nodded. "Yes, Mark," I said slowly, hesitant of my own words. I felt tears in my eyes. "Of course I'll marry you. I love you. I love you. I want you."

And then he stopped my mouth with a kiss, which was a good thing because I was still acting like a fool.

* * *

A/N: Please review. I'm thinking about two more chapters and then this one will be history.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I do not own the obvious. But I love my reviewers. I'm so glad that you liked the last chapter so much. And I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting so long, but teaching and being a student simultaneously keeps me more than busy enough.

_

* * *

Betsy's favorite Austen movie is the 2009 BBC adaptation of __Emma__ with Romola Garai, Jonny Lee Miller, and Michael Gambon; she loves it. She loves the marriage proposal at the end while I happen to think it's actually kind of awkward. I know why she loves it; it's actually fairly similar to the way I proposed to her. I wasn't intending to propose to her when I went into her office on that afternoon when I asked her to marry me. In general, I was planning on proposing to her at some point in the very near future. That day however, I had actually gone in there to see if she could look up a weather report for the next two days. Instead, I saw her holding our goddaughter in her arms and looking very serene. I knew instantly that this was MY moment. I had to "carpe diem" and propose to her then and there. I haven't regretted it since. _

_Similarly, Knightley wasn't planning on asking Emma to marry him; he just intended to comfort her because the man he thought she had loved was now going to marry someone else. Betsy loves that. She also loves the fact that I proposed to her in a completely surprising way. It wasn't really romantic at all. There were no flowers or candles involved. But it suited our relationship just like Knightley's proposal suited his relationship with Emma. _

_On the other hand, my favorite Austen movie is probably the 1995 BBC adaptation of __Pride and Prejudice__. It's not my favorite book but I love that movie. I feel that adaptation is the strongest one out there. It's long but good. The proposal is straight from the book and I like that. Betsy likes to inform me that Colin Firth is not as attractive as Jonny Lee Miller. But she's a girl and girls are silly sometimes. _

_-"Comparing Austen Film Adaptations," a January 29, 2013 blog post from Mark F. Williamson's blog "Literary World Views"_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

I have four sisters. Each of them had a very different reaction to the announcement that I was engaged. I told each of them individually. Jenna was first. I told her over coffee at the shop the day after Mark proposed. Her reaction? "I never thought you'd get engaged before me. I always thought that Kevin and I would beat you and Mark to the altar."

I told Mae over the phone. She scolded me for interrupting her while she was watching _Torchwood_ and told me that this was really something that could have waited or been passed along in a text message or email. "Marriage isn't that exciting. People get married and divorced every day. You only have about a fifty-fifty shot of making it out of the gate. Why bother with it at all?"

"Wait, who is Mark again?" was Cam's response. I don't know where that came from. I really don't.

And then Lucy wanted to know if she could be a bridesmaid. "I am your favorite sister after all."

My dad congratulated us and then went back to watching _Sports Center_.

After commenting, "Oh Betsy, you'll be rich now," my mother immediately started listing off possible venues for the wedding and reception and it quickly became clear that she was not planning MY wedding per se but rather the Princess Diana-inspired fantasy that she had carried around in her head for the last thirty years. I quickly began to consider eloping. I even mentioned it to Mark. He wasn't too sure that it was the world's greatest idea.

* * *

Mark's family had a much different reaction to our engagement. Claire's reaction (on behalf of herself and her husband) was to email Mark and remind him without mincing words that I was a gold-digger and a whore. Natalie and Robert, however, immediately responded by offering to bring their family to Ann Arbor for Thanksgiving so that they could meet my family. "I'm not crazy about the idea," I told Mark. "But I guess that they do have to meet my family sooner or later."

"They'll like Jenna," he said optimistically. "And they liked Art and Ellie."

"Art and Ellie, despite my wishes, are not my relatives."

Mark kissed me. We were in his bed on a Saturday morning when neither of us had to be in the shop until ten o'clock. "I still love you. You can't choose your family but you did choose me. And furthermore, I don't find your family is not as vile as you do."

"You didn't have to live with them for eighteen years."

He laughed. "No, but I have to call Claire my stepmother. I have my own set of unpleasant relatives and I'm willing to be patient with your family if it means that I can spend the rest of my life waking up where I am right now."

"You want to live in this apartment for the rest of your life?"

Another laugh came as he buried his face in my shoulder. "No, but I do want to wake up with you next to me. I don't care where we live as long as you're there."

"You're so sweet and corny. You could write chick flicks."

"Woman, you've got to stop making me laugh all the time. I'll never be able to win an argument if you just make me laugh every time we argue."

I smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Do you remember when I didn't want you to grow your hair out?"

He nodded and I could feel his scruff against my chest; it was an odd sensation-the feeling of his stubble against my soft, smooth skin. But I had become comfortable with this in the past three or four days. "I like it now," I told him. "It's growing on me."

Mark laughed and warmth filled me.

"Can we just stay here forever?" I asked.

"Nope," he said firmly. "For one thing, we need to work to survive. For another, food is a necessity for survival. Thirdly, urination and defecation are generally considered to be good things. And we do both have social lives. And you like knitting; that could get awkward in bed. It will eventually get cold and we'll want more blankets. The list goes on and on."

"Oh shut up, Mr. Smarty-Pants," I said before kissing him. "Now let's get out of bed. We've got a long day in front of us."

"What are we doing besides working until six?"

"We're babysitting Maggie."

He scowled. "Is she potty-trained yet? I don't like changing diapers."

"She's seven weeks old. She's a little young for potty training."

"Crap," my boyfriend replied with a wink and a smile.

"You too were once not potty-trained and your parents survived. And if we ever have children, they too will need to have their diapers changed for a few years."

Mark sighed. "I know that you're right. But I don't want to think about crappy diapers before breakfast. I'm going to lose my appetite."

"Well, stop losing your appetite, take a shower, get dressed, and then we can eat blueberry pancakes before we go to work."

He smiled. "I can do that."

* * *

Life went on. Mark grew accustomed to occasionally changing our goddaughter's diapers. He didn't like it but he would at least do it without whining. He still complained but it wasn't as annoying as it had been. And he watched _Psych_ with me more often-usually in bed. But he was very resistant to my idea that we start our own detective agency. I showed him _Miss Marple_ and _Inspector Lewis_ and the new modern _Sherlock Holmes_ and he still wouldn't change his mind. And Jamie said that we were getting annoying with all of our watching of murder mysteries. He apparently preferred when we only watched _The Office_ and _30 Rock_. We still watch those but we also added a ton of murder mysteries to our repertoire as well. And we watch _Bones_. Honestly, we watch too much TV. But to be fair, we only watch _Miss Marple_, _Inspector Lewis_, and _Sherlock Holmes_ when they're on TV. And they're part of Masterpiece Mystery, so we could only see one of them at a time. And they shouldn't each count as their own individual show since they were all part of our watching of Masterpiece Mystery. So, in that case, we watch five TV shows, which is much better. And three of them are on the same night. So we aren't that bad. We just like mysteries.

* * *

"Have you two set a date yet?" my mother asked when we were at my parents' house for dinner the first weekend of November. "You'll need to reserve everything and find a florist and a caterer and get dresses. Getting married is complicated business."

"Well, we hear January is a pretty inexpensive month for weddings and so is October," I replied. "And we don't want anything fancy anyway. We just want to get married, not throw the social event of the season."

"Elizabeth, be reasonable. You're the first daughter to get married in this family. Your father and I can afford to go all out for this one."

"Mom, we're just trying to be reasonable. I'm not a very fancy person and anyway, you and Dad have four more daughters who will eventually get married. You don't have to throw the social event of the season for my wedding. Save that for someone else."

"Well, if Jenna gets married soon, we can have a big to-do for her," my mother said, throwing a pointed look at my sister who was meekly slicing her steak. "Is Kevin coming to Thanksgiving dinner?"

My sister took a bite of squash and nodded. "He is. He's driving down on Thursday morning and staying with me all weekend."

"He's staying with you, Jenna? I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. You have to play coy with a boy like Kevin. You can't just give him whatever he wants whenever he wants."

"Oh come on, Mom," Jenna snorted. "It's the twenty-first century; Twilight came out. We know all know that boys and girls can share beds without actually having sex. And besides, you don't complain about Betsy practically living with Mark."

"That is different, Jenna. For one thing, your sister has the rock to prove that Mark won't love her and leave her. And for another, your sister's morals are much looser than yours. She was probably sexually active in high school. You're different; you're supposed to be my good girl and not have sex until your wedding night."

"So Betsy is a slut and I'm your virginal lily? That's a little ridiculous. We all know that you weren't a virgin on your wedding night. So why do I have to be one on mine? And if I have to be one, why doesn't Betsy have to be one?"

My mother sighed. A Situation was arising at the dinner table. I could tell this by the way my dad was picking at his squash, Mark was fiddling with his napkin, smoke was coming out of Jenna's ears, and I was trying to climb under the table. This, minus Mark, was the story of my childhood. Lucy, Cam, and Mae each had their own individual ways of handling Family Situations. But their methods still included escaping from the dinner table after mumbled excuses. And all three of them had fled the table in search of peace and sanity.

But I stayed at the table. I wanted to support my sister. And I didn't have a room of my own at my parents' house anymore. Jenna and I had shared a room growing up and now Cam lived in that room. Since we both lived in Ann Arbor, our mother had decided that she didn't think we needed rooms in her house anymore. But if we needed to spend the night at their house, we were allowed to use the guest room. And we both stored things in the attic, garage, or basement.

My mother glared at Jenna. Jenna glared back. This was not normal. Jenna was supposed to be the calm, mild-mannered daughter. I was the feisty daughter who started things that she couldn't finish. But that night we changed roles. She was the rebel and I was the girl who wanted to slip away to peace and quiet. For the first time in a long time I wasn't the one starting arguments with our mother.

* * *

We eventually escaped. But we had to go back on Thanksgiving. And this time we had Mark's family in tow. Jenna was bringing Kevin who was going to stay at her apartment overnight because she didn't care what our mother thought of her. After that dinner a few weeks earlier, I'd learned once and for all what my mother thought of me. "I like how both of our mothers have accepted our relationship," I told Mark as he drove me to my parents' house on Thanksgiving afternoon. "But my mother accepts the fact that I usually spend the night at your apartment because she thinks I'm a slut."

"You're not," he replied. "Trust me. I listen to what the girls in my classes say while they're filing into the lecture halls and they think I'm not listening. I know what that word means. And you, my dear, do not fit the definition."

I smiled at him. "I'm glad to know that."

"I wouldn't be marrying you if you were one."

"Question for you," I said. "When should we get married?"

"Next Saturday," he replied.

"False," I said. "I want a real wedding. We're not just eloping to the JP or City Hall. We're getting married with a nice real wedding. It doesn't have to be a church wedding. We could get married in the Arb or at the botanical gardens. Or we could get married in the backyard of someone we know with a nice backyard."

"Are you thinking of Art and Ellie's cottage?" he asked.

I nodded. "You know that they would let us do it. And it would be so nice and intimate. It's on a lake and it's gorgeous. And it would be very us."

"It's a good idea," Mark assented. "But who would perform the ceremony?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. But we've got to know someone who could do it, right?"

"I could do it!" Sebastian piped up from the backseat of the car where he had been quietly reading a children's version of Ivanhoe. He was staying with his brother at the apartment while his family was in town. In turn, I was not spending the night at the apartment at all while Sebastian was in town. Mark had said something about not wanting to corrupt his brother's mind. But also, Mark was sleeping on the couch while Seb slept in his bed; that couch was not designed for two people-especially if one of them was over six feet tall and liked to spread out his long limbs while sleeping.

Sebastian continued, "I could perform the ceremony. Mom says that I'm good at performing."

Mark and I both laughed. "Bud, you have to get permission from the government to officiate at a wedding."

"But I'm your brother. Don't they care about that?"

"Betsy and I appreciate your offer, but we're going to look for a judge or a minister to officiate."

"We are not using a minister who was just ordained online just to officiate at our wedding," I said. "I think that's tacky."

"Duly noted," Mark said as he pulled into my parents' driveway. "We can talk about it more tomorrow."

"But not in front of my mother," I whispered in his ear before kissing his scruffy cheek. I had become quite fond of Mark's gentle curls and scruffy cheeks. I had come to find the feeling of sandpaper against my cheeks romantic, comforting, and soothing. And I actually liked waking up to the pricking of Mark's beard as he tried to kiss me without waking me up.

He kissed me and whispered, "Naturally, love, and I'll keep Seb quiet too."

"You're my favorite fiancé ever."

* * *

My father had promised me that my mother would be on her best behavior when Mark's family came over. He said that he understood how important it was that our family made a good impression on them. But I'm not sure he really got that. I don't know how well he understood that I loved Mark's family and I wanted them to accept me as one of their own. But I was afraid that my mother could hurt my relationship with Natalie, Robert, and their family. And I didn't want my mother to say anything inappropriate in front of Sebastian. So my father promised to limit the alcohol at the dinner table.

But my mother doesn't need alcohol to be crazy. Seeing me with an engagement ring on my left hand exhilarated her. And having Jenna and Kevin together sent her over the moon. "I could have two daughters married within the year," she whispered gleefully while I put the sweet potatoes in the oven.

Mark handed me the rolls as I sighed. "Mom, don't say anything about it during dinner," I said as I put the rolls in the oven. "Kevin and Jenna are taking everything slowly and being careful."

"They're going to get married, Lizzie-love. You worry too much."

"Mom, listen to Betsy," Jenna said. "She knows what she's talking about."

"Jenna, you're beautiful. You can't be so beautiful for nothing. If Betsy can get engaged, then there is no reason why you won't. And Kevin is so wonderful. He's perfect for you."

That, I thought to myself, would be why Kevin the Wonderful was off watching the Lions lose yet again while my fiancé was in the kitchen helping make dinner. Even Seb was helping in the kitchen. But Kevin was off with my dad in the living room and I knew that was bothering Jenna. Sure, it had been my mom's idea but he hadn't resisted it either. Mark isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but he tries to be helpful and useful. He can't peel potatoes to save his soul, but he knows that. He also loves _Star Wars_, which I totally do not get. I can handle _Star Trek_ and _Doctor Who_ but some things are past my limits of comprehension and those include my mother or _Star Wars_.

"They're here!" Mae called as the doorbell rang and interrupted my thoughts. I love her but she has an incomparable ability to state the obvious.

Natalie and Robert were tasteful, as I expected. And the four girls are gems as always. Most of my family fluttered. My dad emerged from his "man-cave" in the basement where he and Kevin had been watching the Lions-who were at that point miraculously beating the Patriots. Naturally, Jenna and I were surprised at this news but my mother had to act like this was the greatest miracle since Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishesg. And she did this in front of Mark's family to whom we had not yet actually introduced her. Suffice it to say, it was awkward and everyone knew it except my mother.

But then my parents realized that they had an audience of sorts and began to smile and greet their guests warmly. Natalie and Robert were perfect and warm and friendly. The girls were good sports but I could see on their faces, especially on Scarlett's, that they were confused and maybe even a little offended. And that's what I don't like about my family.

* * *

"So you own a bookstore?" my father asked Natalie and Robert over dinner.

"My first wife and I opened it about twenty years ago," Robert replied. "But after she died, I kept it going. And now it belongs to Natalie and me."

"Is it anything like Betsy's store?"

"Well, we don't sell yarn," Natalie replied. "But we live near the drive-through yarn store, so we can't really compete with something like that."

"She means something that amazing," I inserted. "I think the idea of a drive-through yarn shop is brilliant."

"And yet we are never going to turn the Knit 'n' Lit into one," my fiancé and business partner commented.

"I think it sounds like cool," Cam said. "You should have a drive-through bookstore. I could get behind that idea and I don't even like books."

"I don't like that idea," Violet said. "I love sitting in bookstores and browsing for hours. I'd hate if I had to just make a selection and keep going."

"That would be boring," Jules agreed.

"Maybe you could sell Twilight like that," Cam said. "That's the only book I've read that I liked. Everything else is just so boring."

Violet gagged. "I've read Twilight and I hated it."

"You read it?" Mark asked.

"Didn't I tell you that I was taking a vampire lit class?"

"That sounds so cool," Lucy gasped. "What was it like?"

"A lot of work," Jules replied with a smile. As always, she reminded me of a ballerina. She was tall and slender and reminded me of her mother in many ways-tall, slender, elegant-although she lacked the blue-gray eyes that Natalie had passed on to Mark and Sebastian. She was wearing her dark brown hair in a tight bun as she often did with a navy blue cowl-neck sweater.

Lucy, on the other hand, was beautiful but she followed trends that didn't always flatter her figure. She was currently wearing jeggings with a tunic sweater. I hated the very idea of jeggings and seeing them on my sister disgusted me. Lu is lovely but her body isn't what it was before her brief tango with pregnancy. It had lasted less than three months but it had left its scars on her body.

And now my sister was eyeing Jules with something that could have been jealousy or disdain. "I want to be able to read Twilight at school. Instead, we read dumb shit like Shakespeare."

"Lucy," I said in a cautioning tone. "Don't use that sort of language, not in front of Sebastian, please."

She shrugged in an off-handed fashion. "He's old enough to hear words like that. I heard stuff like shit when I was his age."

Mark pursed his lips and squeezed my hand under the table. "Luce, if you don't mind, I think that my parents would prefer that Seb didn't hear swear words."

"Mark, don't you think you're being a bit old-fashioned?" my mother asked. "Nowadays, everyone swears. Stop being such a prude about everything."

Suddenly fear filled my belly. My mother was going to destroy my engagement. She was going to ruin the most important relationship in my life. And she wouldn't understand that she was destroying it. She was just talking; she didn't realize the power of her words.

But Kevin opened his mouth and saved us. "Mrs. Bennet, I disagree with you. I think that we need to be more careful with our words. Words are powerful weapons and we should be much more cautious with them."

My mother started as she looked at my older sister's boyfriend. But Kevin was in earnest and would not give up. "Sebastian is young and he is your guest. You should try to respect his parents' wishes rather than scolding her."

My mother tried to frown but only succeeded in distorting her face and making herself look very odd. "Mom, behave, please," Jenna added. "We have company."

Mark squeezed my knee. The whole situation felt like an out-of-body experience from my chair. Jenna and Kevin were standing up against my mother who was quaking. "I apologize," she said flatly. "I often forget that other people choose to raise their children more conservatively than I did."

Natalie sniffed and I cringed. "Pumpkin pie for anyone?" was my sister's resolution to the solution.

"Yes, please," Kevin replied enthusiastically. "Mrs. Bennet, will you help me get the desserts from the garage please?"

* * *

It was raining and dark when we left my parents' house. The whole day had been foggy but now it was just gross. And I was very tired and grumpy. While she had been nice to Robert and Natalie, she had not been so kind to me after they left, taking Sebastian to their hotel for the evening so that I could spend the night at the apartment, an arrangement which would afford me an extra hour of sleep the next morning.

"When we get married, we're moving to Minnesota," I told Mark. "And we're never bringing our children to visit their maternal grandparents until my mother takes a manners class."

"The evening didn't end that badly. And Kevin did convince your mother to apologize to my mother."

He was right. While they were getting dessert from the garage, Kevin had taken my mother aside and told her that she should apologize to Natalie for her behavior. And she did. "But on the other hand, when I suggested the same thing to her two minutes earlier, she accused me of kissing your mother's ass so as to make sure that you would keep on loving me."

"Dude, I'm going to keep on loving you because it's the only thing I want to do."

"You're quoting REO Speedwagon to me now?" I asked as I rolled my eyes. "Williamson, you are pathetic."

"And in all likelihood you'll be a Williamson by this time next year," he replied with a teasing smile. "That will make you pathetic by association."

"I think I can live with that," I said with a smile as I fingered the diamond solitaire on my left ring finger. "I think I like that idea. In fact, I like it very much."

"And I don't care about your mother. I love you. And you are not your mother. Contrary to what Oscar Wilde thought, not every single woman becomes her mother. You will not turn into your mother."

"I hope not."

Mark smiled. "Elizabeth Bennet, you will not turn into your mother. I know this because you are so completely different from her. You have a much different personality than she does and at times I almost wonder if you weren't switched at birth."

"I look like my dad's mother."

"I've heard that before. And I've been shown pictures that back up that statement. She was almost as beautiful as you are."

"Flattering flirt," I teased with a smile.

He pulled into the parking lot behind the shop. We went inside and he looked at the clock. "It's only just after eight. Do you think we should we call Art and Ellie about the wedding now?"

I shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving night. Maybe we should just figure out when we want to get married and then talk to them when Henry and Suzanne aren't over."

"Late May works for me," he replied.

"Rats, I wanted to share my wedding day with Prince William."

"That would be a no, Elizabeth. We are not getting married on the same day as the man that you had a crush on for most of your high school years."

"Oh, fine," I sighed. "But the newspaper described him as 'prematurely balding.' I'm over him."

"You'd get over me if I was balding?"

"No," I replied. "I know you. I don't know Prince William. I'm attracted to more than just your stunning good looks. But I'm only attracted to Prince William's fame, title, and good looks. Plus, if I married him, I could be Queen Elizabeth."

He unlocked the door of his apartment and shook his head as we walked in. "Woman, you are crazy."

I kissed him as I unbuttoned his coat. "But you love me."

"You're really pretty," he replied as my coat and shoes came off. "But you're all wet. You should get those clothes off."

"I could say the same to you," I told him as I led him towards his bedroom.

We were asleep by ten o'clock because the next day would be a long one. We had to be at work at five-thirty and then were working until two. After work, we had about three hours free to nap-according to Ellie. And at five, Mark's family was coming over to Art and Ellie's for dinner. Then I would hear the real damage report on Thanksgiving dinner.

* * *

To my surprise, Kevin had saved the day. He had continually soothed and calmed my mother. She liked him far more than she liked Mark. Kevin suited her ideal man-British, handsome, smooth, and wealthy while Mark was American, handsome, wealthy, and a little rough around the edges. Kevin had calmed my mother by reminding her how important it was that she make a good impression on my future husband's family. I wasn't entirely sure how he'd done it. Well, he was dating her favorite child. He reminded her of her ideal Mr. Darcy. And he was clean-shaven; Mark's beard/scruff annoyed her to no end. But she adored Kevin's clean-shaved face and pale blue eyes.

* * *

"So you want to get married at our cottage?" Art asked us the next evening.

"At the end of May, sir," Mark replied. My fiancé can be as bold as brass in front of anyone in the world except for Arthur Johnson. I think that Mark is afraid of Art because he is my godfather and he's extraordinarily protective of me.

"How does Memorial Day weekend sound to you?" Ellie offered.

"That sounds wonderful," I said. "We were thinking that Friday evening would be really lovely."

Art smiled. "I approve. You two can get married at the cottage but who would officiate?"

"We're stuck there, sir," Mark replied.

"I know someone," Art replied. "I have a friend who is a retired minister. I think that he would gladly officiate for you."

"We don't want anything fancy or super-religious since neither one of us is religious," I said quickly. "And we'd be fine with a justice of the peace. But we want a real wedding, not just a hop off to city hall."

"Of course you do, dear," Ellie said, pressing a glass of wine into my hands. "And Dr. Lindsay will make sure you have a real wedding."

* * *

And so on Friday, May 27, 2011, I became Mrs. Elizabeth Williamson. I finally dropped the damn Bennet from my name and stopped living a life filled with Pride and Prejudice analogies. Nothing could keep me from waking up with Mark next to me in bed every morning-except for the Christmas present we would get seven months later.

* * *

A/N: Please review. And yes, there is only one chapter left-the epilogue really. And I promise the wedding will be explained in more detail.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I don't own what you recognize. But I'm so grateful to all of my reviewers for sticking with me through this ride. I'm very sad to leave Mark and Betsy behind me. But I can't keep writing their story forever. So thank you for reading and reviewing. And I hope you'll stick with me through future stories.

_

* * *

In my personal opinion, the great tragedy of Jane Austen's novels is that we never see her heroines as mothers. The stories cannot go on forever, but it would be interesting to see Mrs. Emma Knightley with her children or to see Mr. and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy as parents. I never really realized this until December 24, 2011, the day that my daughter Natalie Elizabeth Williamson was born. But when I held that little girl in my arms, I began to wonder what Mr. Darcy felt like when he held his first-born child for the first time. I thought I was going to explode with the feelings that were circulating inside of me. I was amazed and enamored and delighted and scared. _

_As cliché as it may sound, my entire world changed in about two minutes. I wonder what that was like for Mr. Knightley. We know that he loves children and children love him. What was fatherhood like for him? Or how did Darcy feel when he became a father for the first time? I can see him being scared and hesitant while I see Knightley embracing fatherhood head-on. Tilney and Ferrars, I see both of them as eager fathers; both of them love to love others. Bertram, I see him as a hesitant but loving father; he's the kind of dad who is scared that he'll break his baby but he wants to try to hold the little one anyway. And Wentworth, well, he would love being a father; other than George Knightley, I see Captain Wentworth as the most natural father. Both of them are very warm, loving men. In my experience, warm, loving men make the best fathers. I am not saying that I am the best father, simply that I have had exposure to both good fathers and not-so-good fathers. And in my experience, the warmers, more loving men were the better fathers. _

_-"Reflections after the Birth of Jacob Frederick Williamson," an April 22, 2014 blog post on "Literary World Views" by Mark F. Williamson_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

The day of my wedding was the greatest day of my life. I had the wedding of my dreams. Unlike most girls, I didn't want a princess wedding. I wanted plain and simple. I just wanted to marry Mark. And I wanted to have the people who loved us most in the world there as our witnesses. It was small, private, and perfect. There were maybe one hundred people at the ceremony. Jenna was my own bridesmaid. Richard was Mark's best man. Jenna had wanted him to ask Kevin but he said that he was closer to Richard than he was to Kevin. And it was his damn decision anyway, to use his own words. He also made a point of telling me that there was no way on heaven or earth that he would ever invite Emily Bingham to our wedding. I had responded by quickly informing him that there was no reason for me to ever invite someone who disliked me so much to my wedding.

My father gave me away. My mother was practically swooning with glee over the entire ceremony. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat from the moment she saw me in my wedding dress. To be honest, she'd barely stopped smiling since Mark and I announced our engagement seven months earlier. And three weeks before my wedding, Jenna and Kevin had gotten engaged, which only made my mother happier. She barely said a word but kept smiling, almost like a clown. But she wasn't talking and that made me breathe easier. But I was terrified of the day that I would have to tell her that she was going to become a grandmother. While such news would make Natalie happy, it would make my own mother ecstatic and quite probably inspire soliloquies about how much money this child would have at his or her disposal. At present, there was no grandchild or even any hopes of any grandchild. While Mark and I did engage in activities that could bring children into the world, as of yet there were none.

* * *

My mother squealed like a thirteen-year-old meeting Robert Pattinson when Mark and I announced in late June that we were expecting a baby due in mid-January. "A baby, that's perfect! You two will have the most beautiful babies. Except, no! Kevin and Jenna's children will be prettier but that's all right. We can't have everything. And this will be my first grandchild. It's all so exciting."

Mark sighed. I clenched my teeth. And I think we both began to wish that we were dead. Or somewhere else, somewhere else would have been lovely. And it would have been better because I really wanted to have the baby and if I was dead, there would be no baby.

"Are you going to find out what you're having? You'll have to. Being surprised is such a joke. You really do want to know. Then you can paint the room and decorate and get the right clothes," my mother continued.

"We haven't decided yet, Mom," I replied. "We just found out that I'm pregnant."

"Most people make up their minds right away," my mother sniffed.

I sighed. "Mom, we got married. Then, we went to England for ten days. And then we went to Minnesota for our St. Paul reception. I was exhausted when we got back and I had missed two weeks' worth of work at the shop. Pregnancy was the last thing on my mind."

"You should have a boy," my mother pronounced as if I hadn't said a word.

"We'll be happy with either one," Mark replied firmly. "And just because we have one now, that doesn't mean we won't have one of the other later on."

"Your sons will be better looking than your daughters. Betsy isn't as good looking as you are, Mark."

"I take offense at that remark, Mrs. Bennet," my husband replied firmly. "I will not allow you to talk about my wife like that."

She sniffed. "I don't…I'm…It's just that…Oh, don't be silly, Mark. I'm only teasing."

"I'm sure," he said stiffly in a voice which clearly implied that he was anything but sure.

"Look, Mom," I said. "It's our decision, not yours. So please don't push it. Don't. You've done enough. Don't make it any worse."

"Elizabeth, what have I ever done to you?"

"Mom, the fact that you need to ask that question shows the answer clear as day."

She shook her head. "I've always loved you, Lizzie Bennet."

"I'm Betsy Williamson and don't forget that." There is a great difference between being Elizabeth Bennet and being Elizabeth Williamson. In marrying Mark, I had finally escaped my mother's Jane Austen fixation because I had escaped the Austen novels and found something better than fiction.

* * *

My mother may have wanted us to have a boy but I found myself desperately wanting a daughter. Maybe it was just because I wanted to vex my mother. Maybe it was maternal intuition. Whatever it was, I was right. In September, we found that we were in fact having a girl. We decided then and there that we wanted to name her Natalie-after Mark's mother. Mark thought we should name her "Natalie Elizabeth, because you have a beautiful name and it would be nice to put it somewhere in our daughter's name."

"Mark, it's just my name. We don't have to use it for our daughter. We could name her Natalie Rose or Natalie Marie."

"But Rose and Marie don't have any real meaning for us. Elizabeth is your name. It's a family name and I like family names and traditions." Mark, for the record, is named after his grandfathers-Frederick Mark Parker and Frederick Williamson. His mother didn't really like the name Frederick but she decided that since it was a family name, it could be her son's middle name. But Mark was a name with which she could live. And it is a name that I love. Frederick, while being a nice name, is not my favorite name; it's rather stiff. But I love the name Mark.

I gave in on Elizabeth somewhere around Thanksgiving. At that point, we thought we had another month and a half until our baby came. However, Natalie Elizabeth Williamson was my daughter and had a mind of her own.

* * *

Christmas Eve morning found me at work. In September, Mark had taken to lecturing me about staying off my feet, so I was no longer allowed to stand on my feet for more than thirty or forty minutes at a time. I spent most of my time at work sitting in the yarn side of the shop and only getting up to help customers. As I was enormous, people seemed to understand my reluctance to move. Mark and I went for long walks together for exercise. But when I was in the shop, I liked to be comfortable. Natalie was an active child in utero; she was always wiggling and squirming and kicking. I knew that her head was where it was supposed to be for delivery but I didn't want her to come yet. I was not quite ready for her to pop out just yet. We had the crib set up and the nursery painted and we'd bought or been given almost everything off the registry. And baby Natalie had more clothes than both of her parents combined thanks to the generosity of family, friends, and customer. Many of our regulars had decided to knit us little sweaters and jumpers and dresses and socks and other little things when they heard we were having a baby. We had about a dozen handmade blankets for our little girl.

But I wanted her to finished growing. And I did not want to be the hospital for Christmas morning; it's kind of my favorite holiday.

Also, Christmas Eve is Natalie Camden's birthday and I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted her to have to share it with her granddaughter. We were already naming the baby after Natalie; I didn't want my daughter to feel obligated to be someone just because of her name or her birthday. I didn't want my Natalie to grow up in her grandmother's shadow the way that I had grown up in the shadow of a fictional character. I had really only escaped the shadow of Austen by hanging my name from that of her most of famous heroine to a name that gets 632,000 hits when you Google it. For a quiet but free-spirited shop-owner from Ann Arbor, I think that anonymity might be better than living in someone else's shadow. It is much easier to be your own person when you're Betsy Williamson rather than Elizabeth Bennet.

Baby Natalie seemed not to mind all of my fears and concerns. I worked all morning. It was quiet and slow in the shop, which was nice. Mark was working with me. He and Jamie had opened that morning; I came in at ten and relieved Jamie. Mark was leaving at twelve-thirty when Mark would go home. And Jamie would return to free me at four. He and Hannah would stay there until they closed the shop at six. The shop would be closed all day on Christmas and then reopen at seven o'clock the following morning. Normally, we opened at six but Mark, Jamie, and I agreed that no one needed to be up and about at six o'clock the morning after Christmas. And since we were very close to a Starbucks that would still open at six o'clock regardless of the holiday. We had everything planned out.

But my back had been aching all morning. To be honest, it had been aching since sometime around two in the morning. I was in pain and I didn't quite know why-other than the fact that I was carrying around a baby who weighed about seven and a half pounds. I could never put her down. So I blamed normal pregnancy wear and tear for my misery until I started to feel what HAD to be contractions around lunchtime. It was at this point in time that Hannah suggested calling my husband. The shop was empty, so I agreed. Mark came downstairs and told me that he was going to call my doctor. Protesting was vain and before I really knew what was happening, I found myself at the hospital.

* * *

I could tell you about my labor and delivery but you'd probably hate me eternally if I did. Suffice it to say, Natalie Elizabeth Williamson was born at 8:38 PM. She was healthy and beautiful with thick dark brown hair; she was nineteen inches long and weight seven and a half pounds. Being two weeks early didn't seem to set her back much in life.

* * *

Natalie is five now and she has never seemed to mind the fact that she was born on Christmas Eve. She thinks it's exciting and she never complains about only getting presents once a year. She is an energetic, eager little girl with bouncing brown curls and dark brown eyes. She laughs often and has a warm, energetic smile. She adores her three-year-old brother, Jacob. Natalie and Jacob adore each other, in fact. Mark and I are thrilled that our children get along so well-especially whenever Jenna gripes about how her children, four-year-old Elsa and three-year-old Nina, are a never-ending tizzy of screaming and hair-pulling.

Maggie Collins is still our darling goddaughter. She lives with her mother and her stepfather; Carlye married Jamie of all people and they seem to be a wonderful match. They have a one-year-old daughter named Josie who is almost as cute as Natalie.

We still own the Knit 'n' Lit although we don't live above it anymore. I informed Mark shortly after Natalie's birth that I didn't want to raise my children above the shop because I didn't want to force it on them. Also, it's not terribly well insulated and I was concerned about Natalie's health. Currently, Hannah and Mercy are living there although neither one of them works for us anymore.

Natalie loves the shop; Jacob loves the bakery. Nat loves to help me knit. She knows how to knit but she can't sit still for very long so her projects are usually dishrags. Jacob has no interest in knitting but he drags the hand-knit blanket that his Nana Camden made him when he was born everywhere he goes. He even named it "Blank."

Mark now has two doctorates and I have finally accepted that I am married to an overachiever. I think I am okay with this. He loves our children, he is good with money, he adores me, he puts up with my knitting obsession, and he makes good coffee. Also, he reads to me as well as to Nat and Jacob. And he is still ridiculously good looking.

I suppose that being named Elizabeth Bennet at birth was not the worst thing that ever happened to me. Because of it, I had a startling (and memorable) first encounter with Mark. I ended up married to the most amazing man alive and I don't know if I ever would have gotten to know him if it hadn't been for Jane Austen.

_

* * *

Marriage is a wonderful thing. Mr. Darcy is a proud man but he humbles himself for love. Love is the great equalizer. I've heard it said (by my sister-in-law, who teaches elementary school) that third grade is the great equalizer. It's close but love is greater. Love taught me to check my preconceptions at the door and look beyond my stereotypes. The first time I met Betsy I arrogantly wrote her off as a hippie-artist. But when I looked again, I found love. _

_I married a woman named Elizabeth Bennet but I don't see myself as a terribly Darcy-like person. Yes, I insulted her the first time we met. Yes, I fell for her before she fell for me. But that's where the comparisons end. Beyond that, I think that we are much more like Emma and Knightley. Our love is built upon our friendship. And it will last until the end of time. Or at least until death us do part…_

_-"After Ten Years of Marriage," a May 27, 2021 blog post from "Literary World Views" by Mark F. Williamson_

**

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Fin.**

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A/N: It's over. Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the story. In the near future, I hope to begin a modernization of Mansfield Park, so keep your eyes open for that.


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